


Jack and the dragon

by Mjus



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Beauty and the Beast, Different Curse, Hiccup as the beast, Jack Frost as Belle, M/M, Twist on the Enchantress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 12:43:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18315485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mjus/pseuds/Mjus
Summary: Jack feels bullied by most of the villagers of Berk. Even the ones he likes aren't good people. But the stories he hears in passing, about dragons and their trainers disappearing, are about to involve him and his fatheir in their mystery. Meanwhile, the Enchantress is looking for...Hiccup slowly made his way over to the one who had stood by him always. The one he’d failed more than anyone. Toothless stood there, watching him with blind stone eyes, and Hiccup fell to his knees before his best friend, resting his forehead against the stone and cried in the silence.





	1. Prologue

The young woman awoke with a startled gasp, drenched in cold sweat and heart racing.

“Lady Goldbloom? Is everything okay?” a gentle voice spoke beside the bed.

Drawing a deep breath, Lady Rapunzel Goldbloom stood from her bed. “I keep having nightmares, Miriam,” she said and stepped towards the bowl of water by the vanity table.

“Should I call on the healer? He can make you something to sleep soundly.”

The blonde woman shook her head negative. “No,” she said slowly, looking into the water in the bowl. She saw her own reflection; deep green eyes staring in concentration, as if trying to penetrate themselves in search of answers she didn’t have. “These aren’t normal nightmares. I hear Mother Gothel’s voice.”

“The Enchantress? She’s dead, Milady.”

The lady looked up at her servant. “What if her magic isn’t?”

To this the elderly woman had no answers. If the lady had asked about gossip she would have asked the right person, but the Enchantress? Miriam only knew rumours about her.

“I need to make sure. Draw up a bath and cancel all meetings today. If Mother Gothel still have active magic in the realm there’s a chance she may return.”

“Don’t call her by her name, Milady. It’s bad luck. She’s the Enchantress,” Miriam berated her.

Rapunzel looked up, displeased. “I am an Enchantress too, Miriam. Send for Eugene.”

 

* * *

 

_“You will return yourself and everyone to their original state when you can trust, and when you hold the love and trust of a stranger.”_

 

* * *

 

Morning. Jackson Overland blinked groggily as his sleep was disturbed by the sound of their rooster’s persistent cawing. Another day in the middle of the week in the village of Berk. Jack stretched his sleepy limbs every which way and yawned widely. Apparently his cat had spent the night on his bed, because Jack felt his little paws on his leg and heard a thump when the sand coloured tom hit the floor

Blue eyes stared sleepily towards the door from where the pudgy cat glared indignantly at him before slipping out.

“Come on Sandy, we go through this every second morning,” the teenager yawned and threw the blanket off his body, the chill of the morning waking him up better than the rooster outside that apparently had made it his life’s mission to wake the entire world. It was no secret Jack would enjoy the day that bird ended up his dinner. But then the damned thing would probably continue to caw inside his stomach.

Speaking about noisy stomach, Jack’s growled at him as if he needed the reminder to fix breakfast.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it,” the boy grumbled and got out of bed, first stopping at the bowl on his drawer to wash his face and hands before he found something to wear.

It was early autumn and the trees outside were more yellow and red than green, and when Jackson opened his window he breathed in the fresh scent of fallen leaves, a very faint hint of mushrooms and much more strongly; fresh bread from the bakery.

Jack’s insides rumbled again.

“Will you shut up, stupid stomach?”

He quickly put on a pair of pants, socks and his shoes before pulling his arms and head through a light blue shirt, tucked it in and threw on his vest, leaving it open for the moment. Which meant; until he caught sight of his reflection in the hall mirror, seeing how the shirt was so baggy it made him look even leaner than he was and quickly buttoned up the vest. Not that it helped his case any; he was still a very slim teenager with white hair and blue eyes. How he wished he knew why his hair had started whitening on him after he hit puberty. It had been a lovely chestnut brown before that!

Sighing in defeat Jack headed downstairs, grabbed a basket and went outside. The sky was a variety of different blue and purple colours with only the moon and a few faint stars stubbornly hanging on in the far west as the sun hadn’t started to rise yet. This was the time of the day Jack loved the most, the calm before the real dawn, before the town awoke and began to buzz with life. Right now it was only Jack, the rooster that finally shut up now that Jack was out and had thrown some corn at him to eat, the water wheel splashing on the other side of the house, the early insects singing quietly and the goat that bleated at him in greeting from the barn where she’d poked her head out.

“Good morning to you too, Mary. Got any milk for me today?” Jack asked and went in to the affectionate old animal.

And so the morning continued. Jack milked the goat, fed the hens, collected only two eggs, which would have to do for breakfast for Jackson and his father, who by the way opened his window and leaned out just as Jack gave up his search for more eggs.

“Morning Jack. Lovely weather today no? How are you, son?”

“Couldn’t be better. Come down and help me with breakfast.”

“Okay. See you downstairs.”

Jack sighed in content. It was only him and his father, but they were okay. The goat gave them milk, the hens gave eggs to eat and a chicken to sell once in a while and they had a little piece of land where they grew vegetables. This way it didn’t matter that they weren’t wealthy; they had enough to eat to keep at least Jack satisfied. It was a tad bit worse on North, Jackson’s father.

Meeting the man inside the kitchen Jack carefully looked the man over once he’d given North the milk and eggs. He’d lost quite a few pounds since his wife left with Jack’s little sister two years ago. She’d wanted to take Jack too, but Jack had refused to leave his father behind and North himself had begged on his knees to keep the boy with him. And while North Overland was still a large man, it was like half of him had disappeared since that time. Half his heart too.

“Jackson? Are you okay?”

The teenager startled and looked up into his father’s concerned blue eyes. Apparently he’d zoned out without realizing.

“Oh yes dad, sorry. I’m just…” his stomach rumbled.

“Hungry?” North finished with mirth.

“Very funny, dad,” Jack grumbled.

“Come on, son. Lay the table for us. And if you’re done with your chores, could you run an errand for me after breakfast?”

“Of course. You fixed that toy for old Stoick?” Jack asked as he took two plates and mugs from their shelves and headed towards the table.

“I did, and it’s not a toy, it’s a music box.”

“A toy. Only children play with those things.”

“Jack,” North berated. “That music box was Stoick’s wedding gift to his late wife. Poor guy lost his son too. The boy apparently loved the melody. You shouldn’t insult things that are important for other people.”

Point taken, Jack had the shame to blush. Of course North would always side with anyone who had lost their wife and/or child. Compared to Stoick who lived on the hill overlooking the village, North was lucky to at least still have one child.

“I’ll take it to him after we eat,” Jack promised.

North smiled tenderly at him. “Thank you, son,” he said and turned back to the porridge and boiled eggs he was making.

 

* * *

 

The village of Berk was a sturdy little place surrounded by fields on one side and forests on the other. The forest grew around cliffs, enormous rocks and made travelling through it a challenge not many wanted to take. And that said something. The villagers weren’t cowards; far from it. They fought anything that picked a fight, be it bears, a pack of wolves or bands of bandits. The king of the country thought the village was too far away and too close to the border to send any help if they would ever ask for it.

But he religiously sent his tax collectors.

Jack rolled his eyes after a glance at the village board that said the tax collector was due in two days. The last collector that had come by to demand the taxes be paid had left followed by the villagers howling in laugher and with a lot less tax money than anyone else in the kingdom paid. But it wasn’t like the guards were a match to a village full of rough and hardened bullies. Jackson couldn’t even blame the villagers. They were perfectly good people (with exceptions, of course) once you learned the horrible names they threw after you were actually affectionate. Jack hadn’t learned it until he had exploded on the baker one day and the man had been so moved he actually shed a tear and had given Jack two extra lumps of bread and a couple of pastries.

“Nobody has complimented me like that since I married!” the baker had said to a wholly flabbergasted Jackson Overland.

Jack still took the long way around the village to reach old Stoick’s house. The man who had lost both wife and son and best friend and whom few people spoke to these days. Jack wasn’t exactly sure what had happened, he hadn’t lived in the village all that long. He and his father had moved here after his mother left. According to a few stories Jack had heard on nights when he went to collect his father from the inn, there had been dragons in the country, and the village of Berk had been taming them. But one day all the dragons just vanished, along with a good half of the villagers and all of the dragon trainers. Stoick’s son had apparently been one of those trainers.

The house Jack arrived to at last was made of stocks and decorated with old-fashioned dragon heads and symbols of the Gods he worshipped. A vine grew up the wall on the south side and was quickly becoming a deep red in the season.

North’s son knocked hard on the door and waited.

Silence.

Jack knocked again…

“Overland.”

…and nearly jumped out of his boots in fright. Stoick “the Vast” Horrendous Haddock had come up behind him. It was amazing how a man as big as Stoick was such a natural at stealth. He was bigger than North with wide shoulders, a broad back and arms that swelled with so much muscle Jack was just a little worried about breaking if the man touched him.

“Mister Haddock,” Jack greeted once his heart had settled down a little. “Dad sent me. I have your music box.”

He pulled out the little box from his satchel and watched the man’s blue green eyes fill with sorrow, almost despair.

“You know what, keep it for a while,” the big man said and tried to smile. “I… I can’t take it back… not right now.”

Jack couldn’t say anything as Stoick walked past him and into his house. The expression on the big man’s face broke Jack’s heart. Stoick still grieved this much. Maybe the loss of a child really was a wound a parent never fully recovered from.

Placing the music box back into his satchel, Jack wondered what to do now. He didn’t feel like he could just go home when he hadn’t even been able to complete his errand.

Well, if he was lucky, younger sister Arendelle would be at the bookstore.

 

* * *

 

Ruffnut turned another page. If anyone asked her what the book was about though she couldn’t answer since the words never stuck in her memory. She wasn’t here to read after all; it was just the only place she’d found where she could escape.

The shopkeeper’s redhaired daughter, Anna Arendelle, kept grunting irritably at the costumer that rarely bought anything and instead just sat on the floor reading with dead eyes.

“If you like that book, you can bring it home,” Anna tried, like she did almost every time Ruffnut was here.

The blonde on the floor didn’t bother with an answer. Berk had gotten a lot of newcomers after the dragons disappeared and none of them truly believed that dragons even existed. Anna and her prim little family were all newcomers, so Ruffnut didn’t feel like wasting energy on trying to explain why she was here to someone who wouldn’t understand _or_ believe.

The doorbell rang and Anna’s face broke out in a sunny smile.

“Jack!” she greeted enthusiastically.

Ruffnut just turned another page.

“I see Ghost Girl is here today too,” Jackson Overland, another newcomer, spoke in a low voice.

Ghost Girl. That’s what they called her these days; the ghost of a girl who had once been one half of the Terrible Two. At least until the dragons had disappeared, along with Tuffnut, Ruffnut’s other half. And after years of fruitless searching where neither the dragons or Tuffnut or any of the other riders had reappeared, Ruffnut had felt like she had died.

So once in a while the twin that was left behind could be found in the new bookstore; the only place where she didn’t have any memories of the dragons, her brother or any of her old friends.

“I wish she would at least buy something, or go away!” Anna whispered hotly. “She’s just in the way.”

“Come now, she’s not bothering anyone, is she?” Jackson asked.

“She’s bothering everyone by sitting there looking miserable! She’s making you uncomfortable too, I see it in your eyes!”

Ruffnut turned another page.

“I’m not bothered by her; I feel for her,” the white-haired boy whispered.

Anna paused. “Why?”

“Well, imagine if Elsa just up and disappeared and you never found out what happened to her. Wouldn’t you feel rather terrible?”

Anna let out a sigh. “Jack, I know Ghost over there has lost her brother, that doesn’t give her the right to…” she waved an irate hand in Ruffnut’s direction.

“Grieve? Search for an escape? You do know she’s listening, right?”

She looked over and saw Anna stare at her as if she couldn’t believe Ruffnut was actually alive and had ears. It actually made her feel a little better to watch the newcomer flustered. So she stood and walked over to the counter with the book.

“Ruffnut,” was all she said as she dropped the book onto the counter and left.

Jack stared after the tall blonde while Anna huffed and sputtered. Yes, Jack liked Anna in general, but he really couldn’t tolerate how she treated Ghost…

“Is that her name? Ruffnut?” Jack asked. It wasn’t the worst he’d heard. One of the other teens in the village was named Snotlout, son of Spitlout, and Jackson would never understand how anyone could carry such names as proudly as those men did.

“Who cares! To me she’s Rudebutt!” Anna cried angrily and picked the book up to put it back on the shelf.

That was Jack’s cue to leave. Pretty; yes. Funny; yes. Sensitive/considerate; to a chosen few. Tactful; not at all. Jack sighed as he trudged home. He’d heard stories of how Ghost –oh right, Ruffnut– was when her brother was alive, and thought it was a real shame. He had a feeling he would have gotten along perfectly with those two, turning it into a Terrible Trio!

“Hey! Looks like the snow sprite is early this year!”

And maybe Jack would have a couple less bullies if he’d had the twins as friends.

“Yeah, and you better watch yourself, Snotlout, or you’ll find your bed full of frost!”

The other boy made a face. He was much bigger and stronger than Jack, with beefy arms covered in skull tattoos, but his brain was about the size of a walnut.

“There’s an easy solution to that, isn’t there, Frost? Maybe I should just set your house on fire?!”

The boy beside Snotlout started laughing, but Jack seethed.

“Sure, you go ahead and destroy my physical body and kill my father. That is; if you’re eager to never experience warmth again.”

“We’ll see about that!” Snotlout called after Jack, like a threat.

The teen supressed a shiver, hoping Snotlout wasn’t actually that insane.

It was strange actually. Snotlout was said to have been one of the dragon trainers, the only one who didn’t disappear, but it seemed he had no memory of it. Every time anyone mentioned dragons around him, he went dragon hunting with the nearest weapon, be it a sword or a shoe.

When he wasn’t hunting dragons, Snotlout pranced around as if he was the king of the village with a huge kid named Dogsbreath Duhbrain like a bodyguard by his side.

Sometimes Jackson wondered if Dogsbreath was his actual given name or one that had stuck with him. It was rather accurate after all since the boy’s breath tended to smell like bad fish or rotting seaweed.

“Hello Jack.”

The white-haired boy froze, cringing. His luck seemed to be on vacation. “Hi Flynn. Good to see you,” Jack lied with a sweet smile plastered on his face. He didn’t like Snotlout and Dogsbreath  by any means, but he’d take them over Flynn Rider any day.

The man was in his mid-twenties, looking stunning and well dressed as usual this morning, but his eyes didn’t match the rest of his smiling face.

“I’m happy to see your nose. A rare sight indeed since it’s always buried in those books you know. Did you discover the greatness of reality?”

He might as well ask outright if Jack had been making out with Anna in the bookstore. Luckily Jack wasn’t so easy to catch in such traps.

“Actually yeah; I learnt Ghost Girl’s real name.”

The surprise that flashed across Flynn’s face was sweet victory to Jack. He wasn’t even sure if Flynn knew who Ghost Girl/Ruffnut even was. But Flynn was always annoyingly quick to respond.

“Your books have permanently ruined you, Jack,” he said with a condescending smile. “You have even started to see ghosts around the village. What will your dear father say about that.”

“He would probably ask who Ghost Girl is before he jumped to the same conclusion as you,” Jack smiled.

“Not that the girl in question ever made a lot of noise,” another voice cut in, smooth and cool like marble.

Turning around, Jack and Flynn faced yet another person Jack was happy to not talk to.

“Pitch Black,” Flynn greeted pleasantly. “Dear me, for a second I thought you were a walking corpse.”

“Save me your malice, Rider. What’s this about Thorston’s remaining twin?”

Pitch Black, son of Mildew Black, cast his half-lidded eyes on Jack who tried not to shiver. He’d never understood this guy’s scheme that sometimes felt like disgust and sometimes like flirting.

“She told me today her name is Ruffnut,” Jack shrugged. “And I’m sorry to leave all of a sudden, my father is waiting for me.”

“The starving toymaker? I don’t think it’s you he’s waiting for.”

Once again, Jack froze mid-step, anger flaring in his gut like a lit match. He glared hatefully over his shoulder.

“One day, Flynn Rider, your mouth will be your death,” he growled and marched home.

He was almost at the bridge at the boarder to his home when Pitch caught up with him.

“You can’t let him get to you,” the tall man said, his voice smooth, probably intended to be soothing, but Jack still got chills running down his spine.

“It’s not about getting to me, it’s about _respect_.”

“There are plenty of interpretations of that word,” Pitch said, and somehow it sounded like a warning.

“Sure. My own interpretation is for others to take a hint and leave me alone!”

And with that Jack crossed the bridge, feeling Pitch glare draggers at his back. It was only morning, and it already felt like this was going to be a horrible day.


	2. North the Toymaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to comment. I'm strangely proud of this chapter, despite it just setting the tone. Some characters are still a little vauge, but that's on purpose. Hopefully it means I can keep your interest this way ^^;

The red toy train ran smoothly on the rails. It was a simple construction, wooden rails running in an uneven circle under built in bridges and over imaginary rivers. North was very happy with it, combing his fingers through his fine, white beard in satisfaction. It was the last piece he’d had to finish until the fair in Burgess during the weekend. He would have to pack his wagon soon, probably today. Hopefully Jack would want to come along this time.

The doors to the cellar opened with some force and North looked up in surprise. “Jack. Welcome home.”

His son looked stressed, downright unhappy actually. “Dad, is there something wrong with me?”

The father stood in utter surprise. “Wrong with you? Whatever would make you say so?! You’re my perfect son!”

Well, Jack was a teenager now and he had phases and had been an absolute handful growing up, causing North’s hair to go white early (and so had Jack’s for some inexplicable reason) but he was still North’s son and he loved him more than he could say or even show.

Jack still looked unhappy. “I don’t feel like I have any friends here. Snotlout threatened to burn down or house today, Flynn Rider is a bastard and Pitch just scares me.”

“Oh, um…” North thought fast. “What about the Arendelle sisters? They are pretty girls, no?”

“Oh, they are pretty alright. And highly selective and rude to people they don’t like. You know Thorston’s daughter? They’re bullying her quite harshly and I can’t stand it.”

At that North could only heave a deep sigh and embrace his son. He hadn’t imagined Jack having a hard time getting friends when they moved to this place, and there were times when the elder Overland deeply regretted the day they settled down here.

“Well, we won’t live here forever,” North promised and excitedly showed his grand collection of toys. “Next week is the Burgess fair, and if I can sell only a few of these for a good price, then we can move in the spring. Build a new home elsewhere. And if you come along you’re sure to meet a lot of friendly people.”

Jack smiled, but it looked painful. “I’m sorry, dad.”

Well, it’s not like North was surprised. There was one other person who lived in Burgess that Jack had troubles forgiving, even if his sister lived with her.

“I’ll tell Mary you said hi?”

Jackson nodded, smiling sadly and apologetically. “I’ll help you pack everything up. When will you be leaving?”

“Tomorrow morning. I hear the road collapsed last week due to the rains so I need to take the old track through the forest. It will take a day extra though.”

“Take the witch with you to scare off wolves,” Jack joked, his smile coming easier now.

“I’m not going anywhere without the witch,” the father promised, taking said doll down from her shelf, accidentally squeezing her. The ungodly scent of garlic, bad eggs and strong spices spread around them. Jack backed away with both hands covering his nose and mouth and North had to hold the witch doll, at arms’ length. “The wolf that can come near this stench is not having a working snout,” the elder said, trying not to breathe through his nose. If it hadn’t saved their lives twice already he would have thrown it out long ago.

Jack took out the tiny fishing rod he’d played with as a child and North hung the witch on the hook, both hurrying out into the fresh air and stuck the rod in the soft soil by their tomatoes.

“Witch ready, now we start packing,” North said, slightly out of breath.

 

* * *

 

Pitch Black was tending to the cabbage fields his father had lived for. The harvest was plenty this year, but it brought no joy to Pitch. It gave him some extra money for meat when he sold it though, and that was the only reason Mildew’s son hadn’t abandoned the field altogether when the old man died.

“You know, I never pitched you for a vegetarian, Gravedigger,” a familiar voice spoke from the fence around the small field.

“Your puns are as dry as a dessert, Rider,” the slim man retorted.

“Not as dry as your tone. What crept up your panties today?”

“Certainly not you.”

The man by the fence snickered. “You’re such a joy for a man who makes a living off the dead.”

Pitch looked up at a wet sound coming from the intruder. Flynn Rider sat on Pitch’s fence like he owned it, eating a winter apple that definitely came from the tree behind Black’s house. Not that he could say anything about it since there were no proof because half the apple trees in Berk were winter apples. He also loathed that Rider didn’t have the same fear for him as everyone else.

As the local gravedigger, Pitch tended to measure people, keeping their size in mind for the day they kicked the bucket. It unnerved even the bravest in the village and Pitch thrived on the feeling of being feared and respected. It made him feel powerful.

“Did you come for a reason. I’ve already taken your measurements in case of a sudden death.”

“I thought you’d like to know I spied the Overlands packing their wagon again. Jack is probably not going this time either, so he will be alone for at least a week.”

Fury filled Pitch to from the core to his fingertips. So that was Flynn’s scheme.

“You must be bored out of your mind, Flynn Rider. Why don’t you try to do some work at that inn of yours rather than leaving it to your employees?”

“I live for the intrigue,” Flynn said happily, mouth full of sweet apple. “And Jackson is cute when he’s angry, isn’t he? Or frightened? You love it when people fear you.”

“I live to put people six feet under. I’ll even do you the special favour of digging an extra feet deep to make sure the Horned One has an easier time reaching you.”

“Oh, scary,” Flynn said, unfaced, amused even. “Too bad I’m not anywhere near dead yet, Gravedigger.”

Pitch itched to retort that he could remedy that, but Flynn the drama queen would have him locked up or executed within the day if he did. Pitch wouldn’t be the first. Flynn was a sweet talker, the village darling, the bachelor every father wanted his daughter to marry and definitely a regular in all said daughters’ beds. And probably a few wives’ too.

“Then you have no business with me. Good day.”

“Boo,” Flynn said, but didn’t sound all that displeased as Pitch returned to his work. “You were a lovely chat as always. I’m off to send some love to Stoick.”

The village chief.

Pitch was careful not to pause in his movements. How come Stoick, a man that had fallen from grace when his stick of a son disappeared along with that annoying blacksmith, still held respect? He was the only one of Flynn’s targets that seemed unaffected while Pitch had gone from being respectfully feared as the gravedigger to a rumoured pervert paedophile that parents pulled their children away from and store owners locked out. Stoick could still walk through the village and people would bow their heads. He could talk to anyone and they would answer.

And Flynn definitely knew how much that grated on Pitch.

He hit his tools against the soil with more force.

 

* * *

 

“Hey Rider, want to burn down Jack Frost’s house tonight?”

Flynn looked up in surprise. Snotlout looked smug and absolutely serious about the absurd idea. Even Dogsbreath behind him seemed eager.

“Now, why would I want to do that, gentlemen?”

“He threatened to fill my bed with frost tonight!” the other declared loudly, as if that was a perfectly good reason to burn down someone’s house.

Flynn snorted. “You believed him?”

That gave the tattooed man pause, frowning suspiciously. “He’s Jack Frost. I know he can fill my bed with frost.”

Flynn rolled his eyes and smiled good-naturedly as he served the two men. “My friends, Jackson Overland is as human as I am.”

“Humans don’t have white hair,” Dogsbreath said. “So he’s not human.”

“Doesn’t your grandmother have white hair?” Flynn asked.

“She’s old. Old people have grey or white hair. So Jack Frost is really old but looks young.”

If Flynn hadn’t watched for himself how Jack’s hair had gradually gone white since he moved here, he would have thought it strange too. It was an unusual phenomenon, but Stoick had brought the boy to Gothi, the village elder and healer, and apparently she had said it was nothing dangerous. Flynn hadn’t followed the story too closely but Stoick had vouched for that nothing unnatural was going on with the Overland son, and nobody had questioned him.

That’s how much influence Stoick still had in the village despite everything.

“So if Jackson is actually Jack Frost, then who is that toymaker he lives with?” Flynn asked curiously, still trying to come up with an idea to deter Snotlout’s intent.

“His father,” the tattooed man answered immediately. “Father Winter!”

“You’re at it again, Snotlout?”

All three looked up. Behind them stood Thorston’s daughter, the only one who was completely immune to any and all of Flynn’s charms.

“Who are you?” Snotlout growled defensively.

The blonde woman narrowed her eyes and glanced at Dogsbreath, who was suddenly very busy chugging his beer, cheeks red.

“I saw some dragon tracks behind my house,” the woman said tonelessly. “It frightened me, so I went in search for you.”

Snotlout immediately straightened and pulled his shoulder’s back, his face going strangely pale. “Don’t worry, I’ll find it and kill it and bring back its head! Let’s go, Dogsbreath!”

The other put his mug down, stood, burped loudly and stumbled after Snotlout, hitting the door on his way out.

Flynn looked after them and glanced at the two unfinished beers on the counter, fairly unimpressed. But as a true businessman he poured the remains of Dogsbreath’s beer into Snotlout’s almost full one and set it aside for the next costumer who wanted free drinks. Then he focused his attention on Thorston’s daughter. Flynn didn’t know her as anything other than that.

“How do you do that? Snotlout claims to never know you but you seem to know him pretty well?”

The woman just cast him a sideways glance, then she walked up to her father who was drunkenly laughing with some other men.

 

* * *

 

The morning was cold, a layer of frost covering the grass, but the sky was clear from any clouds. Jack sat in his window watching the light slowly overtake the world and the stars. The rooster was quiet now, probably fearing a cold if he left the warm barn and his cuddling wives.

Sandy was asleep on Jack’s lap, making strange noises and licked his nose from time to time, indicating he was probably having good dreams. Jack envied the sandy cat. He hadn’t been able to sleep well tonight, knowing his father would be gone for days. Jack hated being alone in Berk. Flynn was always an absolute pain when he knew North wasn’t around, and since North was leaving this morning, Jack was going to lock his doors tightly after waving the man off and feeding the animals. He did have this really good book he could reread. Again.

Forced to move from his spot as time, according to its purpose, didn’t stop ticking and the sun started to breach the horizon, Jack gently placed Sandy on his bed and went out to do his chores. He milked the goat and found seven eggs, much to his surprise. It was a lucky number, and he prayed it meant this week he would spend alone wouldn’t be quite as awful as they had been in the past.

Since he was up early, Jack also had time to bake some bread before his father came down the stairs to join his son by the table for breakfast.

“I see apples are getting ripe. Make sure you collect good amount while I’m gone,” North started listing off a variety of things Jack could busy himself with in North’s absence. “And clean up in the field. Turn the dirt and clean up all the rocks. If you get the time you can use them to repair and raise the wall around the yard.”

Jack listened carefully. It was true that there was a lot to do around their little farm. Repairs, preparations for the winter, cleaning, filling up their stocks as much as possible. When North returned from the fair they would have enough money to stock up on meat and medicine. Fishing was also brought up, but Jack had never had the patience to actually catch anything. He also wasn’t about to tell North that the fish Jack _did_ bring home had been stolen from fishermen falling asleep or spacing out by the riverside. Mainly Snotlout and Dogsbreath.

Too soon the breakfast was finished and the dishes done. North dressed up for the cold weather, taking his thick, red and black coat and furry hat just in case. They were bantering and Jack managed to hold up his brave front.

North brought out Philippe, their trusty four-year-old Comtois half-breed, and Jack took down the harness to secure the wagon on the horse. Philippe, a mild-mannered animal, accepted the treatment without fuss, the same way he gladly took the sugar treat from his younger owner.

North sat on the wagon and looked down at his son’s smiling face. He wanted to take Jack with him, hated the thought of leaving him, of letting the boy out of his sight. But the fear of coming home to an empty house was one North knew he’d have to live with until Jack moved into his own home with his own wife and children. But knowing so didn’t make the pain any easier to carry.

“Take care of yourself while I’m gone, Jack,” the Overland elder spoke.

“You too. Make sure to wave the witch around in that forest,” Jack joked.

“Who do you take me for? Of course I will…” North turned. He’d been reaching behind him for the fishing rod they’d hung the witch doll on, but just grabbed air.

Thinking back, Jack ran to the tomato patch and fetched the doll, heart beating with a sudden rush of adrenaline. The doll had saved them from wolves before. He’d watched with his own eyes how the animal had dug its paws into the ground, growl changing into a strangled, surprised whine before it backed off and slipped away after gracing the Overlands with a look that Jack almost wanted to call betrayal.

North accepted the rod with the waving witch doll, her stench filling the air, but it was easier to breathe outside.

“I’ll keep her close,” the elder promised. Then he clicked with his tongue and lightly hit Philippe’s rear with the reins.

 

* * *

 

The villagers of Berk hadn’t used the old road in almost ten years, and it showed. Someone did use the tracks though since they were still usable, but North couldn’t guess who that would be. He’d moved his body from the wagon to the horseback, Philippe being both big and strong enough to carry him over the uneven ground that was often steep. Once in a while North had gotten off the animal to help him up a rocky hill or down a wet slope.

Unfortunately this was the first time North travelled this route, and the road was crossed with animal paths on so many places North wasn’t even sure he was on the right track anymore. It was evening on the first day of travelling and starting to get dark. North was trying to spot any stars so he could turn his map the right way, but the sky had clouded over during the afternoon, promising rain during the night. The bearded man however was certain he was lost at this point. He should have reached the main road by now.

Philippe was getting tired, moving slower and slower, but he woke up when North unexpectedly pulled him to a stop. They had arrived at a crossroad, and the smell of predators was what really got the horse alert.

The crossroad didn’t surprise North as much as the illegible sign did. It held as many as nine arrows, suggesting this had once been a well-travelled road with multiple destinations. But looking around in the faint light from his lantern, North only saw trees and ferns and bushes and the barely there tracks of the three crossing roads.

Philippe pulled to the left.

“No boy. You trying to lead me in circle? We turned left last time. Burgess is south of Berk, and south is…” North tried to make out anything on the map as he was holding the reins in the same hand, “that way,” he concluded and pulled his horse to go right.

Philippe didn’t care about south or Burgess. The pungent smell of wolf was much heavier to the right, so he tried for the left again. Unfortunately North was the boss, and he insistently pulled the horse to go right.

“There, Philippe, be a good boy. We’ll reach the main road in no time and you can sleep until tomorrow in a warm stable or barn once we find an inn.”

The horse had to give, and with ears drawn back and head low, he walked down North’s chosen path.

Rattling leaves and the whispers of night critters started to surround them. There was very little wind, but there was a mist on the rise.

North was still studying the map. He didn’t pride himself on his sense of direction, but he did have an increasingly firm feeling he was on the wrong track. With both the moon and all the stars hidden, North would find no heavenly help until sunrise.

Philippe suddenly froze. North could feel the animal tremble between his tights, and that finally had him look around.

A howl filled the air, much closer than North found comfortable. Philippe however, was backing up, squirming underneath his owner, and the Overland elder dropped both the map and his lantern, which broke into a wild flame that had the horse reeling back on his hind legs, trying to turn to run away from the fire.

North just barely managed to hang on. He fumbled behind him for the witch doll, but the wagon behind suddenly hit a tree. Bats screeched and flew low over Philippe’s head, hitting him with their leathery wings and that was it. The horse panicked and fled. North, having already started to lose his grip on the animal, trying to reach for the witch at the same time, was sent flying, hitting the ground hard.

Gasping for air, the elderly man rolled over, pushing himself up on all four. The fire from the lantern had gone out on the wet ground. Without moonlight, it was almost completely dark.

“Philippe?” North whispered, still winded from the fall.

Another howl echoed between the trees, and North grabbed the witch and squeezed her tightly in his fist, spreading her stench around him like a shield.

“Get back!” he yelled bravely.

Something grunted and sneezed, snorted shortly, but that was it. Nothing came out from between the shadowed trees. But North heard another noise that meant he definitely wasn’t out of danger; thunder.

It was distant, but it meant there was definitely going to be bad weather during the night and Philippe had run off with all his supplies and all the toys and all his money too. Nobody travelled through the forest so his chances of finding a house here were equal to none.

“This doesn’t look so good,” North said to himself.

First things first, he had to get back to the road and hope to find a cave or anything else that could protect him from the weather.

Something growled in the bushes.

North squeezed the witch again and walked away from the sound, looking over his shoulder nervously. There was definitely something following him, but the darkness was too dense. Suddenly there was no ground under his foot and North rolled a thankfully short distance down a sandy slope.

Lightning cut through the sky, and it lightened up a high wall and wrought iron gate.

The growling was intensifying. Whatever had started hunting the toymaker wasn’t bothered by the witch. So the man got up and ran for the iron gate as fast as his body would allow.

Something roared behind him.

North threw himself at the gate, the rusty hinges squeaked loudly in protest, but opened, and North was not a second too late to push it back and pull down the hatch.

Another flash of lightning lit up the enormous black body that hit the gate, making it rattle loudly, the sound mixing with the thunder. North dropped the witch in fright. The bear roared at him, white teeth glinting even in the darkness. Luckily, the gate stopped the animal, unfortunately, it also locked North in.

Rain started falling.

Turning around, North was guided by another flash. He stood before an ancient castle, built high, probably around a cliff for the building to reach so high. All around him dragon statues bared their stony teeth at him, snarling warningly.

North ran up to the doors, unnerved by the dragons, frightened by the bear that had almost got him, and seeking shelter from the rain. He beat on the door.

“Hey! Anyone here!? Please help me!”

The door clicked and opened a creek, but there was no sound from the other side. North pushed inside carefully. The hall was an open, large and high space, seemingly void of all life since a hundred years, but beside the door stood a lit candlestick with three candles. The tiny flames spread a warm, yellow light, standing on a surprisingly clean marble table, so somebody had to live here.

“Hello!” North called after closing the door behind him. His call was answered only by his own echo. “Hello!” he called again, a little louder.

The silence was almost oppressing. North’s eyes were getting used to the dark, and thus the faint candlelight seemed to light up an array of stone dragons, only half hidden in the dark. Just at the corner of the short hall before it opened up into a circular space stood one that had the same shape as a crane, but was a lot stockier and with spikes going down it’s spine, its head turned and an eye watching North warily. Opposite it was a much more boulder or bulldog-like dragon, glaring suspiciously at the intruder over a snot with wide nostrils.

“I don’t mean to intrude, but I’ve lost my horse. Please allow me to stay the night!”

More silence. North carefully grabbed the candlestick and walked further inside, feeling watched. He also noticed the candlestick being warm to the touch despite the air being quite cold. There _had_ to be someone here.

“Please, I mean no harm! All I ask is a place to sleep until morning!”

North listened, and then jerked when he heard another door squeaking. Off to his right a door had opened and light spilled out into the hall.

“Hello? Anyone there?”

Again nobody answered him, but North still gravitated towards the light. The closer he got to the door, the more a pleasant smell of food became apparent.

The room turned out to be a kitchen, and on the table stood a large cup, a steaming bowl and a lump of bread that both smelled heavenly. There were another couple of smaller dragon statues here, sporadically placed. Two were snarling at each other on the counter and one was snoozing on the windowsill. A fire was going in the oven, and North was quick to place the candlestick on the table before he shed his wet coat and hat, taking a chair to hang his clothing on and place it near the oven. He kneeled in front of the fire, reached his hands out to the flame to warm them as he looked around. Everything was clean, and there was yet another tiny dragon hiding under the table in the middle of the room, this one watching the door.

Standing up, North eyed the food on the table. There was a napkin beside the plate and North frowned at what appeared to be writing on the cloth.

It said; Traveller. Please eat.

Once again North looked around. There was no dust at all, the pots and pans were well used and the basket beside the oven was filled with fresh firewood.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” the toymaker said as he sat down in front of the plate and picked up the spoon.

It was a spicy stew of vegetables and hare meat. North ate with relish, despite thinking it was a bit too spicy, but wasn’t about to say that out loud when he’d feared he’d have to spend the night cold and hungry.

The rain was coming down hard and the wind beat against the window, making the glass rattle slightly from time to time.

North finished the food and drink and heaved a pleased sigh. The silence was still heavy all around him, save for the popping cracks that came from the fire eating away at wood in the oven. He still felt watched.

Standing and walking over to the sink, North found water and started to do the dishes, placing them on the rack beside the sink. His coat and hat were still wet, so the toymaker grabbed the candlestick and walked out of the warm kitchen warily. It almost sounded like the room behind him started whispering, but when North looked over his shoulder there was nobody there.

“Thank you for the food,” he said to the empty space filled with stone dragons. “I don’t know if you have a bed for me, but I can sleep in the hey in the barn if you’d like.”

Footsteps.

North gripped the candlestick tightly and was about to move forward when there was suddenly a breathy sound from beside him and a touch pressing on his hand.

The toymaker’s head spun around, the candles in front of him, but yet again there was nobody there. However…

North’s blue eyes were locked on the candlestick in his hand. It must have been his imagination, and the shadows playing tricks on his eyes. He squeezed the candlestick tightly.

The middle candle opened blue eyes widely, a mouth opening with a choked noise and the arms came down to push at North’s fingers again.

“I swear! If you squeeze me like that one more time I’ll burn all your fingers off!”

Everything went very still, until North grabbed the candlestick by its foot, staring at the creation with wide-eyed surprise.

The candlestick looked back at him, looking embarrassed and annoyed at the same time. The voice that had come from it was light like a woman’s, and the wax from the candle was forming something that looked like a braid.

As a toymaker, North was decidedly more fascinated than scared. He lifted the candle stick up to look underneath the foot, finding it hollow and poking a finger up in search of a trigger or something that made the candlestick move and talk, earning an indignant squawk of protest. North tried to turn the creation over, but an irritated burst of flames had him pull his face far away from the candles.

Choked giggles came from the kitchen.

“I can’t believe you just did that!” the candlestick cried, obviously offended.

“That actually just happened!” someone choked.

“Ya just thrust ye fingers up between a woman’s legs, sir!” another voice cut through North’s consciousness, and the man gaped in horror.

“You’re a…!?! I’m so sorry! It’s just I’ve never seen a… you’re a…! I’m terribly…! Who’s there?!” the toymaker asked when he suddenly realized he wasn’t alone.

“The ones who live here.”

On the floor beside the kitchen door stood a clock that had definitely not been there before. It was about a metre high, brown and yellow in colour and rough in design, showing signs of age. A brass pendulum swung steadily from side to side like a heart behind a cracked glass door. The face of the clock had a pair of blue eyes peering at North over the arms that he wasn’t sure was showing the right time. It had to be later than twenty minutes to five.

“Are you broken?” was North’s first question, for some reason that being what his mind focused on rather than the fact he thought the clock was talking to him.

“Yeah, sort of. We all are,” the clock shrugged with a wry smile that pulled the arms of the clock upwards on both sides, acting more like a moustache. “Listen, there be room on the second floor. Ya can sleep there.”

The elderly man stood still though. He found himself wondering what the spices in the food had done to him.

“I’m a toymaker, I can fix you up if you let me,” North offered suddenly, somehow his mind was still stuck on the “broken” part, unable to process the “talking furniture” just yet. Or maybe it wasn’t the food, but the witch? His head had always felt funny after too much exposure to her smell.

“You can’t fix us,” the candlestick said with a sigh. “Not like that.”

“Oh, but if you let me try…”

“Listen, old man,” a new voice spoke and North looked around, this time mindful of the candlestick he was still using to see.

“Who’s that?”

“Down here,” the new voice called.

“Look down,” the candlestick said at the same time.

The large cup North been drinking from during his meal stood in the doorway to the kitchen, and it looked wet and disgruntled.

North stared at yet another pair of blue eyes over the ear of the cup, that from this angle looked like an enormous nose on a too small face. The cup shook itself, throwing little droplets of water all around.

“I have a _very_ long list of complaints about a lot of things,” the cup said. “But a ‘toymaker’ can’t fix us.”

North was slowly forgetting about that as he started to realize he’d been drinking from a cup that was now talking to him.

“Just go find a bed and sleep, sir,” the clock said again, and its voice sounded strangely urgent. “Astrid will show you to a room.”

“Of course,” the candlestick said quickly.

Distantly, North picked up on a tension filling the air. However, the promise of a bed and a chance to wake up in the morning to furniture that wasn’t talking to him, no matter how fascinating it was, was appealing.

“Turn around and take the left side staircase,” the candlestick directed.

The toymaker walked slowly, looking over his shoulder at the clock and cup until he reached the top of the staircase. Clock and cup both remained immobile.

In difference to the entering hall, the hallway was narrow. The lightning still happening outside flashed sporadic, short-lived light over snarling stone dragon faces crawling over the walls together with gargoyles that were a lot more logically placed, adding a strange symmetry under a layer of something else. North still felt watched, and the rolling thunder made him flinch.

“There’s a room over there you can use,” the candlestick said carefully, pointing an arm towards a door.

Another flash lit up the corridor, and in the light North saw a shadow. A tall figure towering higher than any man should, strangely shaped and hunchbacked. The candles abruptly went out, leaving North in almost compact darkness.

“What… was that?” the human whispered.

“Just a trick of the light,” the candlestick said, too quickly.

North was backing up.

“Sir, you should go to bed. Nothing will happen to you here. You just need sleep!”

The toymaker bumped into something that gave away behind him. Startled he released the candlestick.

Another flash of lightning lit up the hall. This time the shadow was moving, towards North in long leaps, eyes glowing green and a roar filling the hall along with North’s screams.


	3. Where loneliness took him

The Enchantress looked up from her next pile of books when she heard the door open. She was tired and felt like she was covered with dust and grime from this room and its books that nobody seemed interested in looking after. The people of this castle didn't seem to have treasured the knowledge they had gathered.

"I brought some food for you, Rapunzel," the man who entered said with a charming smile.

Just the sight of him had the Enchantress smile and relax.

"Thank you, Eugene," she said, her voice coming out breathy. Then she saw what her friend had brought and lit up. "Hazelnut soup!"

"I thought you needed a treat after everything," the man smiled and placed the tray on a table clear of books.

The Enchantress put her load down on the floor and walked over, sitting on one of the chairs Eugene had brought over. The man sat down opposite her, trying not to let his worry show. He waited until the lady of the castle was almost finished with the meal before deciding to speak.

"Do you really think Mother Gothel can come back?"

The lady sighed and licked her lips. "I hope not. But there's definitely leftovers of her magic somewhere."

"So give me orders, milady. If there is anything left of Mother Gothel, you know I'll do anything to help you get rid of it."

The Enchantress nodded seriously. Inhaling the last dregs of the wonderful meal, she stood and headed over to a map.

"It's around here," she circled an area on the map with her finger, a red line appearing in its wake.

Eugene studied the map and frowned. "That's a lot of land to cover. Only one city and a village with a lot of forest in between."

"I just hope I'm right. I don't want you to go searching any further east than here," the Enchantress said and pointed to the line that separated the forest from the mountains.

"I won't, Rapunzel. Don't worry about me," he reached out and pulled her hair behind her ear.

The Enchantress held her friend's hand to her cheek for a moment, before the soft skin turned rough and the nails grew into talons as long as her fingers. She walked over to the window with the falcon sitting on her wrist. As she pushed the window open she reached out her arm and chanted.

_"_ _Your eyes are uncovered and your wings are strong. The wind will carry you to your goal before long."_

The falcon left her arm with a flutter of wings.

* * *

It was the middle of the day and Jack was sulking. He admitted as much as he stared at the pages of his favourite book without seeing any of the letters. He hated being alone, he hated that he was lazy and he hated the cawing rooster. The teen knew he had a lot to do, a lot of work that needed to be done and still he found himself comfortably curled up in a chair, Sandy fitted between Jack's legs and body, purring up a storm with his claws digging into the boy's knees in what was probably a show of love and contentment, despite the pain it caused Jack.

There was a knock on the door, and Jack seriously considered ignoring it. Unfortunately the knocking came again and the teen groaned quietly as he put the book down and stood. Sandy tried to protest by digging his claws into Jack's legs as if it would keep him from rising, but then jumped to the floor and shot his human a wounded look.

Jack unlocked the door and opened it.

Jack wasn't exactly sure who the man outside was. He had brown hair and grey clothes. His build was slim and he had an educated air to him. The green eyes however looked so much like Anna Arendelle's that Jack guessed this was her father.

"Can I help you?"

The man looked unhappy. "It has come to my attention," he spoke slowly, his eyes glancing over Jack's body and over his shoulder, "that you seek my younger daughters' company."

Oh, yet another of Flynn Rider's cruel pranks. Jack tried had to keep a friendly smile on his face.

"Has any of them been talking about me?" he asked curiously.

"No," the man answered honestly, a tad exasperated and he kept glancing around, as if expecting something to happen. "But she isn't home and she isn't at the store. Elsa was supposed to work at the inn today but she wasn't there either. I was told to… look here."

A distraction then. Jack was rather shocked to realize that Anna was actually doing anything with Flynn, even more so that Elsa was in on it. Or rather, that Elsa allowed Flynn anywhere near her.

Jack opened his door wide and stepped aside. "If it eases your suspicions, please come in and look for someone who has never been here, sir Arendelle."

The man stiffened, face flaming red. Then he stormed inside.

"Elsa! Anna! You're going home, this instant!"

Of course there was no answer since neither sister was there. Jack was just at a loss since it wasn't his fault and it wasn't Mr Arendelle's fault either.

"Where are they!?" Arendelle yelled at Jack who stood leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

"Ask Flynn Rider," the teen retorted sourly, even though he knew how futile it was.

Sure indeed, the other man paused, blinking in surprise before his eyes narrowed in distrust. "I did. He told me he suspected they would be here, since your father is away."

Jack bit down on a snide comment and his anger. "What if he lied? You can search the house if you like, you'll only find me and my animals."

Mr Arendelle straightened, inhaling in a clear show of pulling himself together. "I'd like to take you up on your offer to search the house. While I do, you can tell me what you have against the inn owner. He is a good man."

The man went about opening doors, walking up the stairs. Jack followed him. He didn't know what to say that wouldn't make the situation worse. Flynn clearly had this man wrapped around his fingers.

"You could ask Elsa or Anna when they get home," Jack suggested. "Ask them if they were with me or with Flynn today."

"I don't have to," the man sniffed after closing the door to North's room. "They will tell me where they've been. I taught them to always be honest with me and their mother."

"And what if they tell you they were with me when you yourself have looked for them here?"

Doubt flashed inside the man's eyes. He had checked the all three rooms on the upper floor now, so he should be able to conclude his girls weren't here.

"Is there any room I have not seen yet?"

"Father's workshop. It's in the cellar," Jack said and lead the way.

The workshop was locked with a key found on a tiny hook inside the grandfather clock in the main room. Jack went to retrieve it, walked around the house, opened the doors and showed Mr Arendelle the space that had gone untouched since North left the day before.

"I… apologize for intruding," Mr Arendelle said after walking out. "It seems Flynn's guess was off."

"Sure," Jack said and tried to smile.

Arendelle opened his mouth, closed it again and instead just nodded his head and left with long strides.

Jack was left seething in fury. How dare he! How dare that Flynn use him and lie about him!

And as if that wasn't enough, Jack got another unwelcome visitor walking up the trail just as Jack was locking down North's workshop.

"That was the owner of the bookstore," Pitch stated the obvious with a glance over his shoulder. "Did something happen."

"No, nothing happened," Jack answered curtly and walked up to a bucket to fill with water and tend to the animals, like he'd already done in the morning, but he needed to do something.

Pitch followed Jack's movements with his eyes, putting the boy even more on edge.

"Did you need anything?"

"I was just curious. I heard a rumour in the village that some of the daughters have been visiting you since yesterday."

"Oh, that's great! As you can see; I'm flooded with girls! I count to six of them here right now," Jack said mockingly. "Five hens and one goat," he continued with a patronising smile and Pitch's mild surprise melted into something cold. Apparently he wasn't up for jokes today either.

"You're going to keep butting heads with Flynn like this? You know who will win in the long run. That smouldering look of his is… strangely effective."

"I don't care about him, I don't care about you and I don't care about _anyone else_ in the village!" Jack hissed angrily. "If they're so hung up on making me the bad guy I'll go away without them or you asking me to!"

"So you admit defeat?" Pitch cast his eyes over Jack's body, taking his measurements with cold, calculating eyes. "Pity, you put on a good show. Good day, Overland."

Jack stood rooted on the spot, fuming. He wanted to throw something at Pitch's retreating back. He wanted to scream, go into the village and punch Flynn in the face.

The white-haired boy turned and ran down the road his father had taken the day before. He didn't go very far, just over a hill so he couldn't see his house anymore. There he stopped running and just walked. He hated Berk. He hated Flynn and Pitch and Anna and her sister and everyone else who would be coming by his house looking for their daughters.

Pitch had called him defeated.

Jack hiccupped, or sobbed, because he was crying. Hot tears burned down his cheeks.

He wished he had a friend. Just _one_ friend. He wished he wasn't alone. He wished Anna wasn't another one of Flynn's admires, he wished Ruffnut wasn't Ghost Girl, he wished there was another boy around his age that wasn't a beefy bully.

Jack trekked into the shadow of an old hanging birch by the road and sank down on the grass, leaning up against the tree. He wouldn't be found here, at least not until Pitch pointed out where he'd gone. If anyone actually asked Pitch that is, or if he even cared enough to tell anyone about it. He was Mildew's son after all, and Mildew had had few admires as far as Jack knew. He'd only met the nasty old man a few times before he'd kicked the bucket.

So Jack just sat there, watching the clouds pass by through the yellow leaves, feeling like he was fading away into nothing. It's not like anyone would miss him.

The clapping of hoofs woke him from his thoughts and Jack looked down the road.

Jack's heart jumped into his throat when he saw the horse, head hanging low, hoofs just barely lifting from the ground and body covered with sweat.

"Philippe!"

The horse stopped and looked up. He neighed weakly when he saw Jack running towards him. The teen ran up to the animal, and stopped dead at the sight of the wagon.

It was gone, torn off and hanging in what pieces were stuck to the harness.

"Where's dad?" Jack breathed. "Philippe, what happened?!"

Of course the animal couldn't answer. Looking at him Jack realized Philippe must have run all night, maybe even since he and North had left the day before.

"Okay, I'll let you rest tonight, but you need to take me to my father as soon as you've recovered!"

* * *

Jack felt like there were ants crawling under his skin. He'd washed and fed Philippe and was now waiting for the animal to wake up so he could saddle him and go look for his father. Thus he had been running around outside doing all sorts of chores. He'd fixed the broken paddle on the waterwheel, filled the barn with so much hay even Mary the goat looked a little wary. He'd fixed the automatic chicken feeder North had invented for the occasion both he and he and Jack would be going away for a while.

Jack realized belatedly he was preparing to leave for a long time. He probably wouldn't. He'd just find his dad, bring him back and they'd go on about their lives.

Turning around to search for something else that needed to be done, Jack almost had a heart attack. He hadn't expected to have guests now that the sun was going down.

"I saw you with your horse earlier," Ruffnut said. "It came back?"

Oh yeah, Ruffnut, even though she was drifting around as a ghost all the time, was probably not unaware of the town gossip. She didn't look like she was digging for more of that though. There was a certain tension about her face and shoulders. Her head was held a little higher than Jack was used to see.

"Yes," was all Jack said. He peered at the blonde with both wariness and curiosity. He'd only heard her speak once and that was when she told him her name a couple of days ago.

"Robbers?" Ruffnut asked, though she didn't look like she believed that.

"I have no idea. Phillipe doesn't have any wounds beside from where the harness has dug into his skin. I'm guessing something frightened him and he ran in panic. The wagon might have just gotten stuck and he pulled himself loose and ran home."

Ruffnut was quiet, not asking the question Jack himself was trying not to think about.

"He didn't come through the village. Which way did the toymaker take?"

Jack looked up, worried. "He said the main road had collapsed from the rains, so he took the old road."

The blonde woman's eyes slowly moved towards the forest in the north east where the dark mountains were just visible over the treetops. A haunted look took over her face and she swallowed.

It scared Jack. "Ruffnut?"

She flinched as if she'd forgotten Jack was even there. "That's… bad," she said. "People hasn't returned from the north east… since the dragons left."

That had Jack looking at the woman again. He'd heard her brother was one of the dragon trainers. But it made sense. "Were you one of the trainers too?"

She just nodded with small movements, though a small flicker of what Jackson interpreted as surprise crossed her features.

"So the dragon trainer that was left behind was you, and not Snotlout? That would explain a few things," Jack said, mostly to himself.

"No, he was a trainer. The only one who was found and brought back."

That… explained another few things. "So he lost his memory somehow. What happened to you?"

Ruffnut's lips pressed into a thin line and she refused to look at Jack. "Bathroom break," she said stiffly.

Jack nodded, piecing the rest together. It's not like the dragons and such a large portion of the villagers had just ceased to exist, they must have gone somewhere, but it seemed more logical that it was the dragons that had been leaving and the villagers and trainers trying to stop them.

"Do you believe it? That we used to have dragons?" Ruffnut suddenly asked quietly. She'd returned to the ghost Jack was used to see, small and vulnerable, barely even there.

Jack chose his words with care. "I've never seen one, but I don't believe a whole village of people can say the same thing without it being somewhat true."

The girl was quiet for a long time as the world slowly darkened as the sun set.

"If you're going to look for the toymaker, I'll come by and look after the animals until the vernal equinox. Then I'll take them."

That meant she expected Jack to be gone for a long time, all winter, which he couldn't say he wouldn't be. Still, if he or North actually didn't come back… "Deal," he said and watched Ruffnut leave.

* * *

It was noon the next day. Jack jerked awake when Sandy jumped on him. He realized he'd fallen asleep in the hay in the stable, waiting for Philippe to recover. Now the horse was up and happily eating his breakfast.

"Okay, Philippe. I'm going to saddle you up and you'll take me to North."

Philippe of course said nothing and silently accepted the saddle getting strapped to him.

But Ruffnut's words haunted Jack. She thought he wouldn't come back, and to be fair Jack didn't know how far North had managed to go.

Finishing with securing the saddle, Jack looked at the horse for a moment. Philippe turned to return the gaze, probably wondering why nothing happened after he was saddled.

"I'll pack us some food and water… and better clothes," Jack explained and turned around.

Mary the goat bleated at him as in a tone that sounded like a scolding, and Jack remembered he hadn't milked her this morning. Much faster than usual the teen ran around, gathered eggs and milked Mary and in general made sure they would live without him before he managed to finally pack some food for himself and Philippe, dressed in sturdier pants and a warm shirt, leather vest and pulled a blue, wool cloak around his shoulders.

Then he was finally leaving.

Sitting on Philippe's back, heading down the same road North had gone two days before, Jack had a foreboding sense that he really was leaving Berk and for good. Yet there was no relief in the thought, just the cold fear that if he couldn't find North that was it. He would be alone for real.

Jack shook the thought out of his head and kicked Philippe into a trot, determined to find his father no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a little torn as to where to cut this chapter, and I do think it's a little short, but I figured it was good enough. Next chapter; Jack finds the castle and North ;)


	4. Cold rooms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I had imagined this chapter to be longer, but I recognize a chapter end when I see it, thus this was rather short. And unbeta'd, so if you find any flaws, feel free to point them out so I can correct them.  
> Happy reading :)

The first thing Jack happened upon about three hours into his journey was the remains of North’s wagon. It was almost completely clean of the toys that had been stacked inside it, save for a few that had gotten stuck in nooks and nails. From there Philippe’s journey was fairly easy to follow as it was scattered with ruined toys. The mass of them had been dropped around a steep cliff where the tarp that had held everything in place had been damaged by the sharp rocks.

Up to here Philippe was calm. Once in a while his ears would fold back and head lower a little, but he didn’t fight Jack’s hold and showed no other signs of wanting to run off. The teen, feeling Philippe’s muscles twitching every now and then, silently thanked God North had been insistent on buying Philippe rather than the slim and pretty racing horse Jack had wanted at that time. Jack’s pick would never have taken Jack this far.

As darkness was falling however, they arrived at a crossroad with a sign with multiple arrows with illegible writing on them. Philippe stopped, head turned to the right. Jack wished he’d brought a lantern or something else to give him light. He’d prepared the farm just fine, but not himself.

The horse stood stock still, ears twitching nervously. The scent of wolf was a lot weaker than before, but that didn’t mean the horse was any more eager to go that way again than he’d been last time.

“Come on, Philippe. Which way did you and dad go? Take me to dad,” Jack urged from the horseback.

Philippe reluctantly trudged to the left, head low and ears folded.

Jack was trying to see through the growing darkness. He could faintly make out the road, but the rain had washed away any tracks Philippe may have left. It had been almost two days after all.

They reached a cliffside, and from here Jack had a good view over the forest, lightened by the rising moon. At first he only saw forest, but then he looked again to his right. He’d thought it was a mountain at first, but the moon reflected against the clear surfaces of windows.

“Someone lives out here?” the teen asked out loud and turned Philippe.

There was actually still a road here, overgrown as it might be, and the horse had no trouble making it down the hill to the front gates of the grandest building Jack had ever seen. The wrought iron of the gates were rusty, and had tufts of fur in it. There was also a familiar, putrid smell in the air.

Jack got off his horse and lead Philippe through the gates. The witch lay on the ground, and Jack swore to make a new one because now she smelled so bad he couldn’t even go near her. But she proved one thing; North had definitely been here.

A distant howl pierced the air, and Jack quickly turned around and closed the gate, making sure nothing was going to come inside the walls.

“Okay, Philippe. You wait here while I go look for dad.”

Jack turned to tie the horse’s reins around a pole. Then he strode towards the looming castle. He glanced only quickly at the surrounding gardens, barely picking up the fact it was full of stone dragons of all shapes and sizes.

There were no lights in any of the windows, so Jack presumed this castle was long since abandoned. It was still shelter though, and protection from wild life. North was probably safely tucked into one of the more comfortable rooms, just waiting for Jack to show up so they could go home together.

Spurred on by that thought mixed with equal amounts irritation and dread, Jack pushed open the grand front door.

“Hello!” He called into the echoing darkness. The moonlight shone through the windows positioned high above him. It was still not enough for him to see the end of the room, just a wide space and some stone statues.

“North! I’ve come to get you!” Jack called loudly and walked further inside, leaving the door open to let in more light.

All around him on the bottom floor it was just compact darkness outside the shapes of blue light that unfortunately only reached the staircases in front of Jack. The upper floor, curiously, seemed less dark, so Jack cautiously picked a stair and carefully felt his way up.

The second floor was more well-lit, having the occasional high window and mirror to let in and reflect moonlight.

“Dad!” Jack called again, louder than before.

There was a sound from the right, like voices, so Jack took off in that direction. The voices silenced when the white-haired teen rounded a corner.

“Hello!” he called out. “North? Please come out.”

When there was still silence, Jack felt his heart start to beat harder, because suddenly the moonlight was blocked.

Jack swallowed and tried again. “I’m sorry, I’m looking for my dad. Is he here?”

He started down this new, dark path, walking carefully and keeping a hand on the wall. Nothing happened for a few steps, them too echoing slightly since he’d stepped off the mats that covered the hallways and walked on the bare stone floors.

Then a door suddenly opened down the hall, soft light falling out.

Jack started running. “Hey! North? Dad? What are you…?”

The teen had reached the door, and behind it was a curving staircase with a lit torch at the base. Jack thought he saw a shadow going up.

“Hey, wait! I’m looking for my dad. Can you help me?!”

Taking the torch with him, Jack ran up the stairs. He quickly lost count on how many circles this corkscrew staircase took him, and he had to stop as he ran out of breath. He couldn’t hear any footfalls and he slightly regretted taking the torch since there was the occasional one lining the tower he figured he was in. There was also layers of dust here.

Jack looked up at his limited view. This was the only part of this building he’d seen was lit, and fire didn’t light itself, so someone had to be here. Someone who must have heard his calls but either didn’t want to answer them, or couldn’t.

Or Jack was walking into some sort of trap.

He shook his head. “I read too many novels,” Jack muttered to himself and started walking again. And only one and a half tuns later he reached the top of the stairs and came into a small tower room. A room that was used as a prison. Jack knew because the two doors here were made of oak and iron bars. North was looking at him from behind one of them.

“No,” he whispered.

“Dad!” Jack sprang forward, grasping his father’s hand.

“Jack. Why are you here,” North asked, his voice hoarse and frightened.

“Your hands are like ice,” Jack, bringing the torch closer. “Who did this to you? What happened?”

“Don’t harm him.”

Jack stared at his father. North was pale with his eyes glazed over with a fever and his arms were too thick to reach through the bars. All the old man could do was grasp the hand Jack had given him.

He was also staring at something behind Jack.

“Please, please don’t hurt him!”

Thinking fast, Jack lashed out with the torch. He caught a glimpse of a large shadow, a mouth of glistening teeth and flashing eyes before the torch was knocked out of his hands and into a pool of water.

The room fell silent again aside from North’s breathy pleas. The moonlight was falling through a hole in the roof, but whatever else was in here with them stubbornly stayed out of it.

“Who is it!” Jack demanded.

He heard a deep intake of breath.

“I’m the master of this castle,” a voice said.

Jack paused. He’d expected something… spooky or deep or intimidating. The voice was too light to be either of those things.

“You did this to my dad? Why? Let him go! Can’t you see he’s ill.”

“I can’t do that,” the voice growled. “He’ll be my hostage to make sure you don’t tell anyone what you’ve found here.”

Hostage. Jack’s heart felt like all the warmth left it. But behind him North was talking and pushing at Jack’s back.

“That’s good. That’s fine. I’ll stay and Jack won’t tell a soul.”

But Jack was seeing the empty farm, Flynn’s sneers, heard Pitch’s warnings and Snotlout’s threats. He was just going to go back to that without North? Never to see his dad again?

“Take me instead.”

“No!” North cried.

Jack lifted his chin and glared into the darkness where he thought the voice came from. “If you keep my dad he’ll soon die, and that’s when I’ll tell _everyone_ about you. I’m young and healthy, so I’m the better hostage.”

There was a long silence, and Jack saw the shadow of the master start to pace, the footfalls almost completely soundless.

“You would do that?” the master asked quietly.

“I will, if you’ll let my dad go.”

“No! Jack, please don’t! You don’t understand!” North cried, desperately shaking the bars.

Jack ignored him, still glaring defiantly at the shadow of this so called master of the castle.

Then a foot suddenly stepped forward into the beam of moonlight, a foot that resembled that of a cat, but twice the size of Jack’s own and covered with scales rather than fur. It was followed by a crooked leg and hunched body, all of it clad in black scales and leathery fabric. Jack’s eyes widened and fear grew in him as the master became visible. The face was as black as the rest of its body, ears and horns sticking up at the top back of the bald head. But most captivating was the eyes; coloured deep green and reflecting the moonlight.

“I will let the old man go,” the monster said slowly as it leaned forward to level its gaze with Jack’s “if you promise to stay here forever.”

“Don’t!” North called desperately. “Jack! Don’t do it! You can’t! Master Dragon, reconsider! I beg of…” unfortunately, North’s voice finally cracked as he succumbed under a fit of wet coughing.

Jack swallowed, not looking away from the green eyes of the one North called Master Dragon. North couldn’t stay here under these cruel circumstances where he was exposed to weather and wind. Jack himself probably wouldn’t last too long either seeing winter was just around the corner, but “staying forever” had to mean the monster wanted him alive.

“I promise,” he said softly.

The dragon looked at him for another moment, eyes searching Jack’s face. Then it straightened with a brisk “deal”.

Jack stood frozen as the beast walked around him, producing a key from the shadows. North was let out and ran straight to Jack.

“Son, please listen to me! I’m old, I’m your father, I…” but the dragon grabbed his collar and started dragging the weakened toymaker away.

“Wait!” Jack called and ran after the two, hands pulling at North’s arms. “Wait, let me say goodbye!”

“Don’t prolong your pain,” was the dragon’s only answer and pulled North down the stairs and out of sight.

Jack was just about to run after them, but suddenly a chain grabbed his ankle and pulled him into the cell North had occupied only moments before, door closing behind him. Crying out in both pain and surprise, the white-haired teen looked around, trying to see who had shackled him, but there was nobody. There was no gloating figure by the bars taunting him or telling him he was not going anywhere like it sometimes happened in the books Jack liked to read. He couldn’t even hear any breathing or footsteps outside.

To his surprise, the barred window had glass covering it, making the only draught coming through the one from the door. It was fairly dry and there was a cot with a blanket in one corner along with a tray of the remains of what was probably North’s meal. In another corner stood a covered bucket. All in all, it could be worse.

Jack ran over to the window. He had a view over the forest, and below him was a roof, but over it he could see the gate. Philippe was still where Jack had left him, but he was alert, staring at the castle.

Suddenly the iron gate opened by itself and a wagon… Jack rubbed his eyes. It looked like a wagon was walking by itself, resembling a tick or spider. And when the wagon, probably carrying North back to Berk, was out of the gates, they glided close again, unaided.

Jack stared after the wagon, realization slowly dawning on him. He’d agreed to stay here forever. He was doomed to die in this barren room.

Cold filled his body to his very core. Fear welled up in him like a tidal wave until he felt like he was about to be sick. What was the dragon going to do with him?

Jack knelt under the window, pressing his forehead against the cold stone, dry heaving.

He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there, breathing hitched and erratic, when the door suddenly opened. Jack’s eyes flew open and he stood, back pressed against the window and facing the master of the castle.

Who looked genuinely surprised at the chain around Jack’s leg.

The dragon sighed and shook its head. “I’ll show you your room.”

“My… my what?” Jack sputtered, utterly dumbfounded.

“You’d rather stay in the tower?” the master asked.

“No, but I thought… and you shackled me to…!” Jack bent down to jerk at the chain that tied him to the wall, intending to show the dragon that he was stuck, when the lock clicked and Jack was holding the loose chain and empty shackle in his hand.

The dragon was looking at him in what Jack would have called amusement if it hadn’t been so faint. Point taken though, Jack was clearly not chained (though he couldn’t help but wonder who had pulled him into the cell earlier), so he cautiously stepped forward. The master turned and started down the stairs, grabbing a candlestick that stood in a nook on the way down.

With the light from the candles in the dragon’s hand and nothing else to distract him, Jack finally got a good look at the place.

The first thing he noticed was the dragons. They stood out, sporadically placed along and up the walls, mixing with the more symmetrical demon faces that lined the structure. And every face was snarling threateningly at Jack, fangs and claws ready to tear him apart.

Fear almost consuming him again, Jack caught up with the master and stayed close to him. At least there was light where the master was.

“I… hope you can find it in yourself to like it here,” the master suddenly spoke, his nasal voice surprisingly soft. “This castle is your home now and you can go anywhere. Anywhere except the west wing.”

“What’s in the west wing?” Jack asked immediately.

“…my lair.”

Jack promptly decided to never go anywhere near the west wing. The fear still chilling him to the bone offered way too many and too vivid images and indications of what a dragon’s lair may contain, and what the punishment would be for going there.

“Nothing in this castle will hurt you,” the master suddenly spoke loudly, his voice echoing between the walls. “And if you do get hurt, I will burn whatever caused the harm.”

They had stopped in front of a door, and the dragon was looking around, as if he was making sure his words were heard and understood. After a moment, the dragon opened the door.

“This is your room. I will never enter here for as long as you reside in this castle.”

Jack swallowed and slowly entered the room.

“Good night, Jack,” the master spoke and closed the door.

Left alone in darkness and silence, having traded one cold room for another, with his father getting carried away, Jack stared at his prison.

There was a bed in the middle of the room, and the teen jumped on it, grabbed a pillow and screamed into it until he passed out.


	5. Stone Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack isn't coping well with being a prisoner, and the subtle threats he recieves while being told he's a guest isn't helping. No wonder Jack has a headache.

“Okay, so one intruder for another, big deal. Calm down.”

“But do you really think the toymaker won’t spill everything the moment he’s back to wherever and gather a mob?!”

“They have to believe him first.”

“Well, how many corpses have we buried already?! I don’t like it!”

“It’s a chance to break the curse.”

Everyone silenced at the master’s voice when he entered the room and set the candlestick on the table.

“Break the curse, huh? Sounds good to me,” the old clock said.

“I… think we should try,” the candlestick said. “The rose has begun to wilt, so if there’s even a slight chance of turning this around, I’m willing to put in the effort.”

“He’s a lot younger than anyone who’ve come by before,” the master nodded as he paced in front of an ensemble of objects and furniture in various states of disrepair.

“You think that’s a good sign?!” a book cried out in disbelief.

“It is,” the clock said, sounding cheerful. “Young is impulsive but less likely to lose control of, so to speak. The lad’s going to try to escape for some time though.”

“I’ve already told the windows and doors to not open for him,” the master said.

“Why are you even freaking out, Fishlegs? It’s not like it can get any worse,” a large mug said.

The book turned on the cup. “Because the last time we tried to trust anyone, toymaker not included, she tried to break the dragons, burn the castle and we had to bury her in the backyard!”

“And the one before her tried to murder me,” the master filled in. “The one before that died and I’m still waiting to know what happened.”

“I wish to know that too, master, but you have to admit she was mad to begin with,” a flower vase said, its pattern waving grey and white paws.

“Not arguing,” the master said with emphasis, holding up his hands with wide eyes as if he really didn’t need that reminder. “Either way, we’ll treat this guy well, I’ll try to… befriend him. He only needs to keep a promise until the rose has wilted.”

“Don’t forget you have to trust him as well,” the candlestick said.

The dragon stopped, teeth bared in frustration. “I know that.”

“One step at a time, son,” the teapot spoke up for the first time. “It’s late and you haven’t eaten yet. Dagur should have food ready for you. We can figure out the rest tomorrow.”

The dragon sighed and smiled at the teapot’s stern face. “Yes, mother Ida. I will eat and go to sleep. Someone keep an eye on the boy’s door and report to me when he attempts to escape.”

“I can do that,” the clock said. “Better someone who can’t put anything on fire, right Astrid?”

“Not funny, Gobber!” the candlestick cried.

“It is actually,” the mug snickered.

“Is not! And that was an accident that _you_ caused, Tuffnut!”

“I don’t think the curtain has forgiven me yet either,” the mug said happily.

The master was about to leave the room, but he turned in the doorway. “Hey, Ida. Would you mind if I put you in charge of bringing our guest some breakfast in the morning?”

“I don’t mind. Nothing like a talking teapot to start your morning after the kind of night that lad has had.” Ida sighed in exasperation. Just because she understood the newcomer’s situation it didn’t mean she liked to have to be the icebreaker.

The dragon smirked mischievously. “Don’t worry. I let him have the room with the dresser.”

“YOU WHAT!?!”

But the dragon had already left the room.

* * *

 

It was the light pitter-patter of rain against the window that woke Jack in the morning. He opened his gritty eyes and stared at the unfamiliar fabric of the pillow he was clutching like it was his last link to life. It smelled like it had been lying here for a long time; closed in air and cold, but at least there were no traces of mildew or rot.

Sighing Jack closed his eyes again. He really didn’t want to wake up today. Or ever. North was gone and Jack was a hostage. Whatever the dragon wanted with him Jack was sure it wasn’t good. Just look how it had treated North! North who wouldn’t harm a fly if it bit him, who still grieves his wife and daughter while trying to give Jack everything he needed.

North was alone now. Or he could go to Burgess, find his old wife and they would be together again, a family of three. All the while Jack would be here, alone and forsaken, locked up in a cold room with a dragon lurking outside.

Jack bit his lip and curled up tighter around the pillow, hopeless tears damping the fabric.

There was a knock on the door and Jack froze. The dragon was back. He’d decided what to do with Jack. He was…

The knocking came again, this time accompanied with an stern female voice. “Open the door, lad. I’ve got you breakfast and it’s growing cold fast. It’s a long way between the kitchen and your room, ye know!”

At first Jack just stared at the door, uncomprehensive. A voice that wasn’t the dragon. Did that mean there were other people here?

Wiping his eyes the teen walked up to the door and carefully opened it. Outside stood a  cart with a covered bowl, a mug, silverware, a small loaf of bread and an egg sitting in an egg-cup and a teapot with a sour face painted on it with the pipe as some sort of elephant trunk (probably the dragon’s attempt at a bad joke, Jack thought privately). But no woman.

“Just open the door and let us in already!” the woman’s voice suddenly blurted and the cart, without aid, pushed into the room.

Jack jumped away, staring at the cart and watched the plate get uncovered, the lid jumping off by itself, the teapot jumped on top of the cover and turned, its face glaring straight at Jack.

“Yes, I am a teapot,” it said, its mouth moving with the words. “And yes, I brew tea. Now come over here and eat your breakfast.”

Jack was backing away, because he _had_ to be dreaming. Then his back hit wood, and the material that should be a solid mass against him squirmed, making the teen jump away again staring at a dresser that was placed beside the bed.

“Good morning, guest,” the dresser said with a bright voice and twisted a little to look out the window. “Well, it might look a little gloomy right now, but I’m sure your morning will be more good than your last night. I must say I find your method of putting yourself to sleep unhealthy.”

By now Jack had backed into the bed and was sitting on the mattress, then he flew up and stared at it.

“Don’t worry, son. That’s just a bed, it won’t speak to you,” the teapot promised. “And don’t complain if your porridge is cold when you eat it. Not my fault you like to wait this long to start eating.”

Jack turned around and stared at the cart again. Now the teapot looked more exasperated than anything, and beside it the mug was snickering. The situation had been going on for too long now and the teen was still not waking up.

“This is real?” he asked quietly, head spinning.

“What? The food? Of course,” the mug said. “Can’t live on unreal food.”

Not really what Jack had asked, but the mug had a point. And Jack was hungry. Thus he gingerly walked up to the cart and took the bowl of lukewarm porridge, giving the spoon a long look to make sure it didn’t have eyes and a mouth like the teapot, before he sat on the floor and started eating.

It was… nothing special really. It was just porridge with sweet milk and a spoonful of honey. Jack wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but the first few bites did make him realize how hungry he was, thus he reached for the bread, breaking it into bite sized bits that he dipped in the porridge. The bread too tasted faintly like honey as well as dried fruits, appealing to Jack’s sweet tooth.

Last he grabbed the egg, peeled it and ate it in two bites.

Still chewing, the teen glanced up at the faces looking down at him from the cart.

“Thank you for the food,” he told them.

The teapot gave him a doubtful look before she turned to the mug beside her and poured water into it from her… pipe, Jack decided, because if he actually called it a trunk he would never drink tea again.

But the mug was looking like it was accepting a horrible fate with difficulty. Jack stared at it with wide eyes, realizing he was expecting to drink the tea from this cup.

“Just drink already. It’s lot like I have a different purpose, you know.”

“Okay,” Jack nodded, picked up the mug… and turned it so its face was looking away and holding his hands at its bottom to prevent his fingers from poking into any eyes.

In difference from the porridge and bread, the tea was bitter and Jack grimaced at the taste. But it was warm, gently heating up his insides and making him feel a little more awake, which was probably the point. He finished quickly, burning his throat in the process and put the mug back on the cart.

“It takes some getting used to,” the mug said and looked up at Jack, “for both of us.”

“Right. Suppose you don’t get too many guests out here?” Jack said in a shallow attempt at a joke. One that didn’t seem to get across very well.

The teapot cleared her throat to break the awkward silence. “My name is Ida.”

The mug gave her a strange look. “I know that,” it said, but caught the hint after a truly killing glare from the teapot. “Oh! I’m Tuffnut.”

“And I am Tooth Fairy,” the dresser spoke up.

Jack slowly turned to the wooden piece, trying very hard to keep his mind from imagining opening the dresser and getting flooded by a stack of teeth.

“And this is her room,” Ida the teapot said. “If you get tired of her, just tell Master Dragon and he’ll arrange another room with less annoying company. In the meantime, why don’t you take a walk? Make yourself familiar with the castle. The kitchen is on the first floor, you’ll find lunch served there around midday.”

Jack still hadn’t recovered fully from his flooded-by-teeth horror fantasy, so he was happy to take the teapot’s offer to explore the castle.

“Wouldn’t you like to wear something different?” the dresser asked hopefully. “I think I have some outfits…”

“No thank you!” Jack cried hurriedly and ran for the door.

The cart followed and closed the door firmly. Jack had stopped some ways down the hallway and now watched as the cart rolled past him. It was actually a really nice thing with intricate designs of vines, leaves and flowers around the sides. And those details detached and hooked onto the railing by the staircase and gracefully slid down, continuing to roll across the hall and towards an open door with lights flooding into the otherwise gloomy space.

Jack took a closer look at the railings. Up where he stood the railing started with a snarling face of a bear, but when Jack went down, he realized the end at the bottom had been sanded and polished so it was smooth. The railing also wore the marks of the cart having made this particular journey a hundred times at least.

Jack stood there, hand on the worn railing and tried to comprehend the meaning of this, which certainly wasn’t helped by the steady beat of pain in his head.

“Seriously? The staircase railing?” a squeaky voice spoke.

Jack looked up to see a book and a grandfather clock staring curiously at him.

The clock seemed to shrug. “Eh, suppose ye need to start somewhere. Must be overwhelmed, eh?”

The human nodded. “Yeah. I’m a prisoner in a castle full of…” he gestured at the clock and book, looking for the right words “this,” he finished.

“Did you just gesture at all of me?” the clock asked. “Heh, so that’s how it feels.”

“You’ll get used to us, I hope,” the book said, and Jack had the strangest sense the book didn’t actually think so.

“Well, if I’m going to spend the rest of my life here, might as well,” Jack spoke around a sigh.

The rest of his life. Jack put a really tight lid on that thought and forced himself to not react. As a distraction he picked up the book.

“What are you doing?” it asked nervously.

“Your title says you’re the dragon manual. May I read?”

“Wouldn’t you like to explore the castle with us first?”

So apparently reading this talking book was not a popular idea, if the nervous smile he received was anything to go by.

“You’re right; let’s explore. You can introduce me to the rest of the living furniture here.”

“Oh, no need,” the clock said and followed Jack down the stairs, its wood bending unnaturally to achieve the task. “Everything that isn’t made of stone is alive in this place.”

“But the teapot said my bed wasn’t,” Jack protested.

“It can move around if it wants to, some things just choose not to. Like the rugs. The only time they move is when Master Dragon washes them.”

Jack paused, glancing down quickly. “The _dragon_ cleans the rugs?”

“You sound surprised,” the book said with a frown to its mouth. “Don’t you think you’ll be looking for things to do too after a while.”

Jack schooled his face and just nodded. “Probably.”

They walked around the first floor, which wasn’t all that much since the castle was built around a cliff, so here was only the entrance hall, a small sitting room with two high chairs in front of a fireplace. Then there was the kitchen, where Ida the teapot was bathing in the sink and the stove told Jack there wouldn’t be any more food served before lunch, thus the teen promptly left, followed by the giggles of the mug.

There was a room that looked like a gigantic wardrobe. The clock explained that this was where guests hung their coats and hats when they arrived to have parties.

“The dragon used to have parties?” Jack asked.

“Nah, the previous owners of this place did, I suppose.”

“So he’s not the original owner?”

“No.”

The human had expected more than that, some history, maybe a clue as to who the dragon was and what he was doing here. Jack hadn’t spent too many thoughts on the dragon, but one by one they were slowly starting to come forward. It was also, slowly, belatedly really, starting to sink in that Jack was the prisoner of a dragon. An actual, talking dragon. The people of Berk had never said anything about the dragons talking, but what did Jack know. The dull pain in his head that was refusing to give in said this was not the time to think about anything at all.

They moved towards the staircase in awkward silence, Jack trying to think of non-offensive questions, when he spotted a flower vase at the top of the stairs. It was really pretty, pale yellow in colour with an emerald base and covered in light pink and white flowers around a grey bunny that looked anything but happy.

“Toymaker junior, I suppose,” it said.

“Jackson Overland,” the teen answered. “You knew my father was a toymaker.”

“He told us as much,” the clock said, gaining Jack’s attention. He could imagine the dragon dragging his father away to put him in the tower while North cried he was just a toymaker.

These things had really not cared.

“Why are you treating me differently from him?”

“Master thought it was a good idea,” the vase said. “I’ll let you know not everyone agreed.”

Which added yet another question mark to the heap that was starting to grow a little too large for Jack to ignore it. At the same time, these talking objects had treated an elderly man like shit and none of them seemed ashamed.

“Where is your master? I haven’t seen him all morning.”

“Why? Planning to hurt him already?”

Jack blinked at the vase, stupefied. They were expecting him to want to hurt the dragon? “No, I just… haven’t seen him after… last night.”

“We figured you wouldn’t be very fond of him right now, so we told him to stay clear of you for a while,” the clock said with a shrug. “He’s already told us we can’t hurt you, but if you hurt _him_ , we’ll have no choice.”

In other words, these objects would be friendly as long as Jack was civil. It meant Jack was truly their prisoner and misbehaviour would be punished.

“Good, you understand,” the vase said, sounding somewhat pleased. “And if you’re curious, your horse is in the stables on the east side of the castle. The tools there hasn’t seen a horse in a while so he’s getting quite pampered from what I heard.”

“Oh yeah,” the book piqued up. “I saw Mulch the scarecrow was inside this morning, saying the horse made him nervous.”

Jack had completely forgotten about Philippe after everything that had happened the day before. “Where is he now?”

“Mulch?” the book asked, surprised.

“No, Philippe! My horse!”

“Let’s head back down, I’ll show you where to find him,” the clock offered.

* * *

 

Entering the stables Jack didn’t need directions to find Philippe. The horse stood in a big box, perfectly clean with plenty of lanterns around, and he neighed happily upon seeing Jack. The teen hadn’t believed it when the vase said Philippe was being pampered, but he stood corrected. Philippe’s coat had been cleaned and brushed until it gleamed, his nails had been trimmed, his mane and tail combed, and a generous heap of hay with hidden apples had been served.

“Why, don’t you look spoiled,” Jack huffed and walked up to give the horse a hug and scratch his forehead. The horse pressed against him happily, and Jack envied his ability to just roll with the punches and adjust to any situation.

“He’ll be taken care of,” the clock said from outside the box. “You can come here and work on him yourself, you can even bring him out for some air.”

Take Philippe out? He was allowed to do that?

“And when you do, the gate will be locked and guarded,” the clock continued with a tone that said he knew where Jack’s thoughts had been going.

“I promised I’d stay here,” Jack mumbled.

“Yeah, want to know which ones believe you’ll keep that promise?” the book asked.

Right. The dragon wasn’t the only threat in the castle. Everything seemed more or less hostile. The book didn’t appear threatening as much as wary, but what could a book do? The clock was so far the most easy-going out of everyone, although straightforward and brutally honest. The vase definitely didn’t like him, the teapot and mug from this morning were a little short-tempered… the dresser had been friendly, and in retrospect, Jack realized he’d treated her unfairly due to his own wild imagination.

Jack buried his face in Philippe’s neck for a second, taking a deep breath of the only safety that he’d probably find in this place.

He thought about North, missing him so much it hurt. Then he thought of Berk for a second, remembering Flynn and Anna and Pitch and Snotlout… yes, he was a prisoner here and his holders were everyday objects and a dragon. He’d been shown at least the basic hospitality of shelter and food and even some privacy in the shape of a room the dragon had promised he’d be left alone in. It wasn’t a good situation by any means, but it certainly wasn’t worse. There was no Flynn Rider out to make his life miserable, no Snotlout and Dogsbreath to beat and threaten him when they felt like it, and no Pitch to make his skin crawl.

Jack stepped away from Philippe, smiling and petting the horse fondly, then he turned back to the clock and book who were simply regarding him, as if waiting for a reaction.

“Mind if I go out then? I need some fresh air.”

* * *

 

The outside was cold and brisk and wonderful. Jack was about to relax and take a deep breath when he was startled by a couple of shovels and rakes that suddenly got busy cleaning up the area, herding autumn leaves into a pile and fixing the flowerbed near the wall.

The teen looked around after the twenty something seconds job was done and the tools stood at attention beside him.

“That was pretty neat,” Jack had to admit, and saw the rakes beat their sticks together as if they high-fived.

The teen nodded at them before turning his attention to his surroundings. The yard was… unkept. Bushes and contorted trees grew wild and untamed around what had once probably been a beautiful place. There was a building of some sort on the far side, pretty much just a roof on a circle of pillars, though Jack couldn’t fathom what it was used for. Near the castle wall was a shed that had seen better days, which probably was why the tools lived in the stables that were attached to the side of the castle.

And everywhere were dragon statues. Jack hadn’t thought about it so much until now, but there was definitely a surplus of dragon statues all over the place; inside the castle as well. They all varied in sizes and shapes. Some being long and sleek and others short and stubby. Some had two heads and others sported terrifying long tusks. Some had their wings spread, but most of them were folded. Some had four legs and some had two. There was one statue, posed like it was trying to climb the castle wall, that mostly resembled a bat the way its wings were attached to the arms, or the other way around, Jack wasn’t sure.

The master of the castle must be bored out of his mind if he had the time to make so many stone dragons. Where did he even get the rocks?

Jack bent down to scrutinize a horned snake with wings about as big as he was. The tail was lined with pricks and two pairs of claws like grabbling hooks poked out above and underneath the folded wings. The dragon was staring up at the castle with a look Jack would normally interpret as worried, but he wrote it off as his own feelings.

Ignoring the rest of the stone statues, Jack looked at the walls surrounding everything. It was evenly high all around, but at the back there was a big crack that went from the base up, leaving a sizeable window, however, there was nothing beyond but the faraway mountains as far as Jack could tell.

“It’s a pretty long drop into the abyss through that crack!” the clock called from inside the stable. “I’ll let you know the castle is built right at the edge of a ridge!”

Well, they all seemed to know he was planning an run either way, so Jack didn’t bother to grace the clock with an response. There were no trees or anything growing near the wall towards the forest, which meant the front gate was really his only option of escape.

When Jack walked back inside, the clock and the book both had strangely sad and angry looks to them.

“Is… everything all right?” the teen asked.

“You know,” the book said and gave Jack a surprisingly pleading look. “We’d rather you not try to escape, because… we really don’t want to force you to stay.”

Jack frowned, feeling frustrated. “I’m your prisoner, and prisoners are typically forced to stay put against their will. Isn’t that exactly what’s happening here?”

“You could view yourself as our guest instead,” the clock shrugged. “Might make you a little more open-minded and… well, things might look better that way?”

The last part was said in a lacklustre tone, and it wasn’t what the clock had wanted to say. Jack was saved from the following awkward silence by the scarecrow poking its head into the stable, sending Philippe a worried glance before stepping in fully.

“Dagur sent me to fetch ye all for lunch. He’s pretty cranky today.”

“When is he _not_ cranky?” the book said with a roll of its eyes and waddled towards the scarecrow.

“Who is Dagur?” Jack asked as he followed the clock and book and scarecrow through the short corridor between the stable and castle.

“The cook,” the clock said, but then made a thoughtful sound. “Well, I suppose when you’re an oven, you have no choice but to be a cook. We used to crack jokes that he became an oven because of his hot temper, but it got old really quick.”

Jack furrowed his brow in confusion. “You mean he wasn’t always an oven?”

That question was met by a silence that pretended the question hadn’t been asked at all, which just got Jack even more curious. Because it made some sort of sense if he was right. This castle and everything in in was obviously enchanted, he’d figured out that much this morning, but to think the clock and book might not actually be objects, but people? Jack really had to get the time to think this through. But that was probably for tonight rather than now.

“I never caught your names,” he said. “I don’t think I told you mine either? I’m Jack.”

The scarecrow turned around and stared at him with wide eyes. “Did ye just ask fer our names?”

Jack smiled a little wryly. “Well, when you called the oven by name I remembered Ida, Tuffnut and Tooth Fairy from this morning. If they all have names, why wouldn’t you?”

“We do,” the book said, donning the same surprise as the scarecrow. “It’s just that nobody ever asked. But my name is Fishlegs.”

Which was not at all what Jack had expected, but the book said it with such pride and dignity he couldn’t laugh.

“Don’t be fooled by his name,” the clock said with a snicker. “He’s a book because he’s a walking encyclopaedia.”

“That I am,” the book sighed, looking pleased for a second before his face fell into an unimpressed stare at Jack. “But it sucks that people want to read me. You could just ask me anything and I’ll tell you right away.”

“I’m Gobber,” the clock cut in and started walking again. “The scarecrow is Mulch, and the bucket hanging off his arm is…” he made a dramatic pause, where Jack realized for the first time the scarecrow actually did have a bucket on its arm “Bucket,” the clock finished its not-so-grand-after-all presentation.

The bucket groaned softly.

“Huh, seems there’s going to be some bad weather tonight,” Mulch the scarecrow said and took up position beside the door to the stable.

“How can you tell?” Jack asked curiously.

“The tighter the bucket, the bigger the storm. If not so tight, not so bad.”

Whatever that meant, Jack wasn’t sure. Not that it mattered as he followed Fishlegs and Gobber towards the kitchen for lunch.

The table had been laid with a plate with steaming food and Tuffnut standing beside it, filled almost to the brim with water.

“Hope it fills you up, there’s no a second serving,” the oven said. Jack glanced at it as he sat down. It was sooty and burning brightly inside, lighting up the kitchen with a warm light.

The food was a stew with tough meat and soft vegetables. It wasn’t the best of foods, but he supposed the oven, Dagur, wasn’t the best of chefs to begin with. Jack shouldn’t complain though. When he’d been locked up in the tower he’d had a fleeting thought that he’d been living off of bread and water for the rest of his life.

He reached for the water, remembering at the last moment that the mug had a face. Probably because it was looking at him.

“You know, I appreciate your consideration, but it also makes it even more awkward,” Tuffnut said.

“Right. Takes some getting used to.”

“I know. Wish I could tell you what it feels like.”

That was a sensation Jack was very happy to be unable to imagine. But since Tuffnut had been his drinking cup in the morning too, Jack thought he might be the only one, so he might as well make it the least painful for both of them. Thus he grabbed the mug and drank all the water in one go.

“You know, it’s only awkward if you make a big thing of it.”

Jack looked up. On the table stood a simple, brass candlestick with lit candles. The middle one of those candles had blue eyes, and the wax shaped a cute little nose. The eyes looked unimpressed and the metal lip of the brass seemed to Jack as if it was moving.

“I stood here when you arrived. You didn’t notice?” the candlestick asked.

“To be honest; no,” Jack admitted and stared some more before he turned to Gobber who had taken up position beside the door. “How many… live… talking…” a thought reached him from a book he had once read. “Rephrase; how many objects in this castle has been enchanted?”

Everything that had eyes directed them at Jack. Then Gobber and the candlestick exchanged a look.

“Everything and everyone,” the candlestick said.

Jack opened his mouth, but quickly closed it again when he realized it would be inconsiderate of him to ask. He picked for another one; the first one he could think of.

“So everything can move and talk and…”

“Move; yes. Talk; not so much,” Gobber offered as an explanation of something Jack wasn’t sure.

“Like I said this morning, the bed won’t speak to you.”

Jack turned around to find Ida the teapot beside the oven that had a kettle on top, probably boiling water for tea.

“I see,” Jack said. At least he thought he understood. It was all a bit much and some facts were blending with other facts.

The headache he’d tried to ignore since morning was intensifying.

Jack stood from the table. “I’m sorry,” he said and leaned against the hard surface. “I’m really sorry. I think I need to rest, so I’ll head back to my room.”

Without waiting for a response, the human left the kitchen and headed for the stairs.

* * *

 

Burgess was a lively town filled to the brim with people arriving for some sort of harvest festivities. Pigeons, and all kinds of crows and small birds circled the roofs, diving every now and them to grab some abandoned or occupied goodie they decided they wanted.

A falcon sat on the cross that topped the church at the heart of the city. From here he had a grand view of rooftops and the occasional tree the people had decided to keep around despite how their roots upset the cobblestones.

People on the streets and the city square were aplenty. People who bought and sold and a handful that stole, most of which were children. The pickpockets all walked around at random until they returned walk past an alley where they left their loot in the hand of a couple of young men who seemed to be handing the money and goods off to other young men and girls who walked off with everything in turns.

The ringleader of the pickpockets was the most evil the falcon had managed to find here. Sure there was other evils; from men who beat their wife and children to a couple of women who had a man tied down, gagged and blindfolded while they used him for pleasure. But in comparison to Mother Gothel, even the worst of them was fairly harmless.

There was magic users here. Quacks and gypsies, nothing powerful or too sinister. Nothing looked or felt like the kind of magic Mother Gothel had emitted. Not even after dark could the falcon find anything that resembled Mother Gothel’s magic. Eugene still took the extra time to doublecheck the entirety of the city, just to be sure.

Well, he had started his search here and felt like he was finishing up as he soared over the houses at the outer edge, some of which were almost hidden under the brightly coloured leaves of trees. Everything outside the city was either forest or farmland.

Eugene landed at the top of an oak to look around. He’d been searching Burgess for two days now and was contemplating continuing to be extra sure, but this was about Mother Gothel. The old Enchantress had always been an eremite by nature, preferring to keep to herself and rarely went into the cities. It was a lot more likely to be some hidden spot in the forests or farmlands. Another hidden princess perhaps? A place where Mother Gothel could have planted a seed that was now growing.

The falcon glanced warily to the far east. He couldn’t see them from here, but he knew they were there; the border between Rapunzel’s realm and the realm of a much older Enchantress that was best not to disturb. Not even Mother Gothel had dared an encounter with the mistress of the land beyond the abyss.

That was highly irrelevant though. The other Enchantress only reared if you actually stepped into her domain, and Mother Gothel would have been turned to dust and never heard of again if that had happened, so Eugene felt fairly safe he wouldn’t have to go near the border.

Eugene looked west and north before he turned more south to look in the direction of the village of Berk that had also been inside the circle Rapunzel had drawn. Should he go there, or search the forest first? The forest was more likely to hold something.

Who was he kidding? The seed Mother Gothel had planted could be anywhere! He needed a proper plan. He had even started searching Burgess because he knew how small the chance was that the seed was here.

The falcon faced north. He was going to start searching the outer line of Rapunzel’s circle and work from west towards the east, and hopefully find the seed long before he even saw the abyss between the realms.

* * *

 

Jack awoke with a start. It was dark, but the wind howled outside. He was still fully clothed, and he probably needed a bath at this point since he hadn’t washed himself properly since he left home three days ago. Or was it only two? He wasn’t sure, but right now it might be night. Midnight even? He’d slept all day.

The human silently slipped from the bed, casting a wary look at the dresser, but it remained silent and still. Walking up to the window the boy looked out. It was snowing; the air filled with white crystals that were thrown around in the harsh wind that rattled the window.

Watching the power of winter nature, Jack tried to think. He was a prisoner here, which was bad enough, and his jailers were enchanted objects that may or may not have been people once.

Had the dragon put the spell on them? Jack was unsure. It did make sense to him, but then all the stories he’d overheard in Berk were grossly incomplete, or didn’t make sense at all if he took the dragon tamers into the equation.

Jack rested his forehead against the cold glass. Thinking wasn’t going to give him any answers. Asking anyone wasn’t going to give him answers as he’d already tried that approach. Now there was only one thing left to do.

With his jaw set in a stubborn line, Jackson Overland soundlessly stepped up to the door, casting another glance at the still immobile dresser, opened the door a slit and slipped out.

The hallway was surprisingly enough dimly lit from lanterns spread thinly about the stretch of space. It certainly wasn’t much, just enough to make out shadows of stone dragons and other things lining the corridor.

The human stepped into the shadow of a dragon that seemed to be guarding the door to his room, and stood still for a moment. The master of the castle had said his lair was located in the west wing. He had arrived to this room from his left, which meant the tower was that way. Jack took a gamble and headed right, being careful to keep to the shadows and on the mats to make sure his steps were silent.

Nothing moved or breathed. The stone dragons snarled and stared at Jack, but remained stone. Jack had to remind himself more than once that he’d been told today that everything made of rock was just rock and wouldn’t jump him.

Finding another corridor at the end, Jack turned right again, deciding to go around if he couldn’t find anywhere that might look like it would lead to the west wing. This hallway however was only about twenty meters long, and all the stone dragons were turned the same way. Jack followed where their noses pointed.

He came out in a high room with carved stone men with ox heads struggled to hold up the pillars while lions watched from alcoves in the walls, all of them seemingly ignorant of the dragons that were climbing all over them.

Once again it was the dragons that pointed the way for Jack as all of them were staring up the staircase to his right.

The human looked around, eyeing every object for any kind of sign he was actually being watched or if he just felt like he was. Nothing called out or otherwise tried to stop him from climbing the stairs, so the boy concluded that he was alone.

There were no more lights at the top of the stairs. Jack stopped for a moment, hidden under the wing of yet another stone dragon, this one appearing to be cowering and snarling at the same time.

There were less dragons here, Jack realized as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and the few he could make out were all poised like cornered dogs; snarling, tails curling, backs arching and all kinds of spikes raised.

Jack started slowly down the hallway. After passing two stone dragons, the hallway was completely void of them, all the way to the door at the end, which was covered with deep scratches from some enormous animal.

The real dragon.

Jack stood before the door, feeling his heart beating like it tried to escape, before he decisively reached out and pulled the door open.


	6. Graveyards

Jack wasn’t sure what he had expected when he slowly entered the dragon’s lair. Maybe he’d thought there’d be heaps of gold and jewels like the stories said they held, but with the state of the rest of the castle and its inhabitants, Jack realized he wasn’t surprised to not find any riches here. That said; he was rendered speechless with dread at what he did find.

Broken objects were carefully stacked in separate heaps with their respective pieces. Frowning, Jack looked around. Everything in here was broken. Mirrors and paintings hung on the walls with cracks and large holes in them, or stood leaning against the walls because their frames were broken. Every single shard of the mirrors had been gathered and painstakingly glued back in what seemed like desperate attempts to save them. There were a few broken chairs, one table that looked like someone had gone loose on it with an axe was placed upside down with its broken legs placed carefully on the underside. A wardrobe looked like it had been rammed in the side, but newer pieces of wood was trying to hold it up and together despite the fact it was clearly falling apart.

Jack shook his head and tried to understand what he was seeing. The castle was enchanted. Everything and everyone had been enchanted into something that more or less lived, and some objects may have been humans. So what was this?

The dread made Jack cold and he struggled to breathe. Why was he here again?

The human walked further inside. All the objects were placed in uneven lines along the walls, but a trail was left clean going from the door to the other side of the room where a window was letting in pale moonlight on the other side of grand bed with a dense overhang.

Jack stopped. Moonlight? Last time he had looked outside it had been snowing from murky skies; there shouldn’t be any moonlight. So what was that light?

But he had come to talk to the dragon, so Jack pushed his fear down as far as he could and stepped around the bed.

The source of light was not the moon, obviously, but Jack gaped at the sight of the levitating blue rose that glowed with a winter blue light.

Shivering form a sudden cold that settled in his blood, Jack walked closer and just stared at the sight, knowing without the shadow of a doubt that whatever enchantment this castle was under, this rose was somehow the root of it.

As if sensing his approach, the rose unexpectedly turned so that it’s head was faced towards Jack. He froze, expecting the rose to open eyes and start talking to him, or crying out to the dragon.

It didn’t. The rose just stayed there, suspended in the air as if it was a magnet between it and the table top, looking completely innocent.

Jack reached out a hand, only to realize the rose was trapped inside a dome of clear glass. He stared at it for a second, wondering why the rose was caught like that. Without thinking, he removed the dome and put it on the floor.

The rose stayed still, as if it was growing in solid ground and not airborne.

Jack reached out a hand, about to pluck the rose, to see if he could, when a loud scraping noise distracted him.

The window flew open and the dragon shot inside. Jack jumped back in fright, but rather than him the dragon reached for the glass dome and hastily put it back over the rose. He was breathing heavily, staring at the flower with eyes open wide, reflecting a mix of horror and something else Jack couldn’t identify.

When nothing happened, the dragon turned on Jack.

“Why are you here?”

The human opened and closed his mouth, making noises but not forming words.

“I asked you not to come here!” the dragon said, or cried, the horror on his face hadn’t subsided. If Jack hadn’t been so out of his mind afraid, he might have noticed that fear was the only thing to be found in the dragon’s eyes.

“I wasn’t going to…”

The dragon lashed out. “YOU COULD HAVE KILLED US ALL!!!”

Jack ducked, feeling something inside him snap. He turned and ran. Out of the room, past the frightened stone dragons, down the stairs, past his room, down to the hall and through the corridor that took him to the stable where Philippe woke with a start.

“What are you doing!” the scarecrow called out when Jack started saddling his horse.

“I’m done! I’m leaving! I don’t care anymore, I can’t stay here another minute!”

“What? Wait, Jack! Please! What happened?!”

But the human was already on Philippe’s back, tearing down the doors and setting off towards the gate through the heavy snowfall. Luckily, it wasn’t locked and when Jack jumped down to pull it open it gave easily enough for the horse to squeeze through. Then he just took off, seeing the faint golden light that came from behind, telling him the castle had awoken.

He steered Philippe straight into the forest, ignoring his own lack of proper clothing, his heart beating too fast and adrenaline running too high for him to notice anything. All he could think was that he had to get away or the dragon would kill him.

Dark birds suddenly took flight right up into Philippe’s face, startling the horse. Jack cried out as he struggled to stay on the horseback, and then he suddenly saw something that shouldn’t have been possible.

The bear was enormous, with silky black fur and dark eyes, but that didn’t matter at all when the bear suddenly stood on its hind legs, almost got to Jack’s eye level where he sat on the horseback, and roared at him.

Philippe cried and ran the other way, Jack holding onto the reins for dear life. The bear followed, frighteningly fast for something that size. Philippe wasn’t a racing horse, but he had excellent stamina, and started to gain some distance, until he ran over a pond and broke through the ice. The water was so cold it burned and knocked all air out of Jack as he too was submerged to his chest.

The bear wasn’t falling into the same trap though. Philippe was bravely fighting to get out of the water, moving forward quickly thanks to the water being shallow enough that he could barely reach the bottom with his hoofs until he could and was back on solid ground. The bear however was moving around the small lake, and had almost caught up with them.

Jack pulled the reins, trying to steer Philippe up a hill, but the horse fought against him and dashed straight forward. The bear missed them with mere inches. Unfortunately, by now Philippe was in a full panic, just running without even looking, and thus ran straight into a bush of thorns.

He reared back and Jack, numb from the cold, found himself flying through the air and landing heavily on his back. Now Philippe was caught. The reins had gotten tangled with a strong branch, pulling painfully at Philippe’s face as he tried to tug himself free.

The bear was catching up, a little slower than before, aware its prey was stuck.

Jack jumped up, grabbed the reins and tugged for all he was worth, but the bear was so close, and the teen closed his eyes and cried out.

Jack couldn’t see it, but the bear suddenly froze as another sound tore through the air; like a whistle breathing in.

The dragon rammed the bear in a flash of lightning.

Jack’s eyes shot open and he stared at the scene.

Beside the bear, the dragon looked small and skinny, and he was wielding a sword of all things.

“Please Elinor, go back to your cubs. I don’t want to hurt you,” the dragon pleaded.

In vain. The bear roared and attacked.

Jack caught a flash of despair in the dragon’s green eyes before he ducked under the large, hairy paws and Philippe jostled Jack back to the fact the horse was trying to pull free.

“Calm down, Philippe! Easy! Come on!”

“Elinor! Elinor, please!” the dragon was crying. And then he yelped in pain.

Jack looked up, the bear had hit the dragon and knocked him into a tree. Now the bear reared to deliver the final blow. But the dragon jumped up, and his sword came out on the other side of the bear’s head.

The dragon slowly, as carefully as he could, placed the bear down in the snow and with a grimace of determination pulled his sword out with one decisive tug. Only the wind was howling around them. The dragon kneeled beside the dead animal, slumped and breathing heavily, face distorted with pain and regret.

Then he faced Jack.

The boy closed his eyes again and tried to pull the reins free, but he couldn’t feel his arms anymore, and he was scared and he was sure he was crying and he was about to be killed by the dragon and…

Something warm draped around him.

“You will freeze to death.”

Frozen in shock Jack just stood there for a second. The dragon had…?

The hood lifted slightly from a gust of wind, allowing Jack to see the retreating form of the dragon, hunched forward, unprotected from the elements, holding his side. But he stumbled, and then he fell and didn’t get up.

Philippe stood still, trembling slightly, but his breath was almost back to normal. He wasn’t frightened by the dragon. The same dragon that had imprisoned North, who Jack hadn’t seen since he showed Jack his room, who had… not wanted to kill the bear.

Jack had to think again. He had been frightened, but when he’d been caught almost plucking the blue rose from its place… he recalled the look on the dragon’s face.

The one who had been frightened hadn’t only been Jack. And what had he said? You could have killed us all?

Jack bit his lip. Whatever had happened in the west wing, the dragon had still come out here, given Jack his own coat, and had been about to leave rather than force Jack to return.

_“We really don’t want to force you to stay.”_

Reluctantly making up his mind, Jack reached up and decisively untangled Philippe’s reins, cutting himself on the thorns but not feeling it. They circled the bear, who looked a lot smaller now than it had appeared to Jack when it was alive and chasing them.

The dragon had called the bear by a name, asked it to return to… so it was a mother with cubs. Jack glanced at Philippe. To the bear, Philippe must have looked like a feast.

Even the dragon looked small now, Jack realized. It was almost laughable how much the teen had blown this creature up in his mind when the reality wasn’t even close.

He was still breathing, but bleeding from a slash in the side. It took some spine and some help from Philippe, but eventually both boy and dragon sat on the horseback and was heading back to the castle.

 

* * *

 

Ruffnut was just leaving after taking care of the animals on Overland’s farm when she stopped and looked up the road. Something was moving, appearing to be crawling on the road, but then it just gave up and fell down.

Curious, the girl walked forward.

It turned out to be the remains of a wagon that looked like it was supposed to be pulled by a horse. But there were no rains and definitely no horse.

A noise from inside startled Ruffnut, and then again when North suddenly fell out of the wagon. He coughed wetly and tried to get up on all four.

“Mr Overland?” Ruffnut spoke, just to be sure.

The elderly man looked up. He looked like the wagon had taken him home via hell; his eyes were wide and feverish, his face coated with dirt and sweat along with his matted hair and beard.

“Whe… where am I?” North asked around his coughing.

“Home,” Ruffnut answered carefully and wondered if she was supposed to help him up and inside. She didn’t have keys to go inside though. “Jack went looking for you yesterday morning.”

“Jack,” North repeated and started crawling. “He took Jack. I have to…” but then he froze, staring at his large hands in horror.

“You should see the doctor or something,” Ruffnut said matter-of-factly. “Where did you come from anyway? I thought I saw the wagon move by itself.”

“It did,” North mumbled. “There were no horses. He just shoved me inside and I heard him give an order.”

Ruffnut tilted her head. “Who are you talking about? What happened to Jack?”

North managed to push himself to his feet and turned to stare at the remains of the object that had taken him here with the outmost horror. “We have to burn this,” he said brusquely and started for his house.

That action Ruffnut had genuinely no qualms about. She had always loved fire and the chaos it caused. Berk had once been full of fire, and she missed those days so much it physically hurt sometimes, even more than watching Snotlout fall victim to insanity the way he had. Thus she happily helped North put firewood underneath the wagon and lit it on fire.

But watching the flames seemed to kill North inside.

“Why would he do that?” the old man whispered.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You sound like you’ve lost it, Overland,” Ruffnut informed him.

North stiffened. “I… I can’t tell anyone. He’ll kill Jack.”

The young woman stared at the flames. She had never been very intelligent, but she wasn’t without a brain. North and Jack had both gone into the forest to circle the mountain so they could head for Burgess.

“Did you find the dragons?”

“…I can’t tell you,” North breathed, and Ruffnut knew fear when she heard it. “What I found… I can’t tell you. I can’t let Jack die there.”

Ruffnut felt her heart go cold, and her eyes strayed towards the north east, like they so often did. Whatever had happened to Jack and North, she prayed to the all-seeing Odin it had nothing to do with the dragons and her lost friends.

 

* * *

 

The atmosphere in the room was so heavy Jack could feel it like a weight on his shoulders. The only sounds in the room came from Gobber’s ticking, the fire, the dragon’s slow, heavy breathing and the rag that Jack was winging hot water out of to clean the dragon’s wounds.

The candlestick, whose name Jack couldn’t recall if he’d asked for, stood by the dragon’s head, watching his face. She stood stiff and refused to look at Jack. Ida the teapot was the most helpful yet. She had been the one to heat water and bring it as well as order rags to allow Jack to use them. Now Ida and Tuffnut sat on the cart from the morning before along with the vase with the sour bunny painted on it.

“You didn’t leave him to die.”

It was Tuffnut who spoke, a statement really, and Jack suspected they were all thinking that.

“I couldn’t,” the teen answered.

“Anyone else would have.” The candlestick’s voice was barely above a whisper. She was still not looking at Jack, and suddenly the human couldn’t imagine what she was feeling. What any of them were feeling. Here they all were, trapped, and the way they were so protective of the dragon it was like he was their only hope.

Jack suddenly felt like a monster. The dragon had gone out, probably to try to bring Jackson back, but had instead ended up killing a bear he was familiar enough with to have given her a name, and then… just given up.

“I wouldn’t,” Jack said. “He saved my life. I wouldn’t just leave him lying there.”

It was silent for a long time after that and Jack managed to finish dressing the wounds to the best of his ability.

“Sorry, I’m not a doctor,” he apologized as he stared at the messy handiwork.

“It’s more than any of us would have managed,” Gobber said sombrely. “Astrid is the only one who has arms.”

“And look how useful they are,” the candlestick hissed and waved her arms around, the half-burned candles that was her hands were straight and stiff, so she couldn’t use them as hands.

The dragon suddenly inhaled sharply.

“Hiccup!”

Green eyes blinked open, and quickly took it their surroundings. They landed on Jack, blinked and squinted. Then he sighed and relaxed against the mat.

“Hiccup?”

Everyone looked at Jack with surprise, even the dragon, but the candlestick suddenly covered her mouth.

“Your name is Hiccup?” Jack repeated, unable to keep the mirth or incredulity out of his voice as the corners of his mouth twitched upwards.

The dragon just rolled his eyes and huffed. “Just laugh it up.”

Jack would have loved to, but he found he couldn’t. He stared at this creature, a talking dragon, and nothing made sense. He had imprisoned an old man, but had almost died to save Jack. He had mercilessly dragged North away without allowing father and son to say goodbye, not showed his face after locking Jack up in another room and still showed Jack kindness despite being hurt and cold.

“Why did you put my father in the tower?”

“The toymaker!” the flower vase cried out in sudden outrage. “He killed Easter! He should be dead!!”

Jack stared at the vase in both horror and surprise. “Dad would never…”

“We’re OBJECTS!!!” the vase roared with a voice that echoed inside it.

“He also attacked Hiccup when he rushed forward in an attempt to save Easter,” the candlestick said stiffly. “Everything was moving in to kill that man. Myself included.”

The dragon was fidgeting on the floor. “The tower isn’t good for anyone, so I put him there, hoping he would calm down so I could talk to him. But he was terrified out of his mind. He seemed certain I was going to eat him or something.”

Jack just slumped. He wanted to defend North, say that none of that could be true. But he’d seen North; he had been scared, too scared to communicate with. The dragon must have also realized North would have died if he stayed there like that, so Jack coming to look for him… of course they couldn’t let anyone in Berk know about this, or they could because nobody would believe them. But if North said there was a dragon here it would definitely cause a hunt lead by Snotlout, and what did the dragon really have to defend himself?

“I’m… sorry.”

The dragon stared into the flames. “Easter was one of the… more energetic ones here. But once something breaks, there’s no saving them.”

The flower vase grunted and looked like it wanted to leave, but instead just turned away.

Jack recalled the state of the west wing, all the heaps of broken objects and every attempt to put them back together. He looked around at everything in the room, the candlestick was the only one who locked completely fine and polished, but Tuffnut’s rim was nicked here and there, Ida had subtle cracks in places, the flower vase looked especially fragile, Gobber was ticking away with a rugged outside and cracked glass to his pendulum. On a table beside a high chair full of stains and scratches stood Fishlegs and watched everything with a forlorn look.

Jack swallowed. He wanted to ask about the rose and the curse, but it didn’t feel like the right time. Instead he made a silent promise to do whatever he could to help these people.

He sat back, pulled his knees to his chest and stared at the flames for a while.

“I’m really sorry, for everything. And…” he swallowed, glancing at the dragon, “thank you… for saving my dad… and me.”

The dragon didn’t move or even glance at him, but his features seemed to soften. “You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've finally made it this far! There is a chance the ball scene won't happen in this version, but if there's anything specific you'd like me to explore further, don't hesitate to say so ;)


	7. Where the curse is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack makes a bold decicion.  
> The Enchantress is still searching.  
> Whispers start to spread in Berk.

The snowstorm stayed for two days, leaving Jack pretty much locked inside the castle. The difference was that now he knew why some weren’t thrilled to have him there. Also, the dragon wasn’t horrible company. Not that he said a lot since he was sleeping most of the time. Waking only occasionally to grunt and huff and blink to show Jack he was listening to whatever Jack might happen to say.

“Dragons aren’t good with this kind of weather. Makes them slow and sleepy,” Gobber had explained.

“Good thing,” Astrid the candlestick had answered. “He needs to stay still long enough for his wounds to heal. He’ll be climbing the walls as soon as the sun comes out.”

Jack didn’t feel like exploring the castle any more than he already had, so he took care of Philippe, helped clean up in the stable, spent as little time as he could in the kitchen, and the rest of his time either in the sitting room where the dragon slept or in his own room, chatting with Tooth Fairy, who turned out to not carry any teeth. Jack had apologized for thinking so.

“It’s fine. Can’t help it with my name and when I’m a storage item. But thank you for clearing that up!”

It was his fifth morning as the dragon’s hostage. Jack was up early again, getting dressed in leather pants, light cream undershirt and a wonderful blue wool sweater with wide quarter arms and a wide neck. Even though Jack was pretty sure it was made for a woman once, he still loved the sweater. He absolutely loved the colour; just a few shades darker than his eyes. It made him feel strangely pretty. The way Tooth was applauding his look though made him embarrassed.

“I’ll see you in the evening, Tooth,” Jack promised as he left for breakfast.

“And I’ll be here, probably” Tooth said in a tone as if she was trying but knowing she failed to crack a joke. Jack didn’t quite understand, but he wrote it off as social awkwardness. He and his father were probably more visitors than they had had in ten years.

First he went to the sitting room where the dragon had been sleeping in front of the fireplace for the past two days, only to find the room empty and the fire reduced to hot coal.

The first thing Jack registered was surprise at just how disappointed he got. Why was he disappointed? The dragon had probably not left the castle, he was just… in places where Jack didn’t know where to find him.

Then he heard quiet footfalls behind him and turned.

The dragon stopped when he noticed Jack. “Good morning,” he said politely, but his green eyes were searching.

“Morning,” Jack quickly smiled and tried to hide how relieved he was to see the dragon. “I’m glad you’re up. How are you feeling? I mean…” he glanced at the place where he knew the wounds had been inflicted, only to realize the dragon was carrying cleaning materials.

“I’ve lived through worse,” the dragon said and put the bucket of water down. He was still eyeing Jack as if waiting for him to do something, but Jack was still a little struck by the image of the master actually carrying around a broom, a duster, a bucket of water and had a white cloth tucked into his belt.

“I can’t decide if that’s hilarious or adorable.”

The dragon looked startled before he suddenly turned around. That’s when Jack settled on funny and started laughing.

Hiccup could for the life of him not understand what Jack was talking about, but he wasn’t about to complain. A laughing human was much better than one cowering in fear or coming at him with ill intent.

“Ida and Dagur are preparing your breakfast. If you go there now you could make them happy.”

The teen snorted as he got his laugher under control. “How am I showing up going to make them happy? Dagur hates me.”

“Yeah, it’s finding someone he likes that’s the challenge,” Hiccup said with a roll of his eyes and picked Bucket back up. “But Ida likes to serve a meal hot, and as far as I can tell she hasn’t really made up her mind about you yet.”

He turned to leave.

“Where are you going?”

Looking up when Jack suddenly sounded nervous, Hiccup stared at the human boy. There was something about him that Hiccup hadn’t seen in any of the other people who had come to this place. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“I’ll… be around,” he said and held up his materials.

The dragon had been alone for too long. Jack realized this when the broom and water was apparently the answer to his whereabouts. Shaking his head, Jack decided to smile instead. “Okay. I’ll see you later.”

Then he headed for the kitchen with quick strides and tried to clear his head.

What was wrong with him? Sure, the dragon had proven he wasn’t a monster, but for the past couple of days Jack had found a familiar loneliness creeping up on him. One that was only subsiding when he was near the dragon. It didn’t make sense.

“What’s this?! Here already? The porridge isn’t even done yet!”

“Perfect. Sit down and wait for a minute. I can finally serve you the bread hot.”

Jack walked around the table carefully, picking up Tuffnut from the counter as he went, and stared at the oven and teapot arguing about whether it was a good or bad thing he had arrived early.

“Are you two married?”

The question was out before he could stop it, and the two turned on him.

Dagur for some reason looked crushed. But Ida blew up.

“Do I look like a child to you?!”

Jack stared with wide eyes, making some noise of unsuccessful thinking.

“Actually, don’t answer that. I can see the ‘no, you look like a teapot’ comment coming all the way from here.”

The teen sat quiet for a moment, but Tuffnut was cackling so hard he looked like he was about to burst.

“My wife…”

Jack turned to the oven who sighed smoke before straightening up and started stirring the porridge. It was sort of interesting to see him work. He had these metal appendages that sort of curled which he used to grab ladles and lids and from which wet pots hung after being washed.

Actually, every single one of the objects in the castle were fascinating in their own way. They functioned by moving what parts of them were able to move at all. Ida and Astrid jumped around in a fashion that, by a long stretch, reminded Jack of a larva. The rakes and shovels in the stable seemed like they could levitate for a limited amount of time, otherwise Jack couldn’t imagine how they managed to keep upright when they swung around to get leaves and snow out of the way.

Also, the more he watched them all, the more uneasy he felt. It was in the way some wouldn’t look at him and instead they’d politely bow or step aside. It was in the way their airy friendliness felt forced or shallow. It was in the whispers he could hear at the edges of his periphery that always stopped when he came too close.

“Here you go!” Ida happily presented two flat breads that came flying from the insides of the oven.

Jack jumped up to catch the bread, only to burn his hand. He hastily put the bread on the table and stepped away, waving his hands as if he could just bat the burning sensation away.

Ida ignored him and instead jumped upon her cart to roll over the floor along with the plate of porridge.

“Thanks,” Jack said, still rubbing his burnt fingers.

“I’m glad I don’t have to hunt you down to get some food into you. There is certainly no warmth in here, not even during the height of summer, you know. It’s not good for anyone. Sometimes I wonder if Hiccup is simply putting on a brave front.”

Jack picked his bowl of breakfast from the cart. He broke the bread, which was so fresh it steamed. Ida was right; the castle was quite cold. Enough that he could already touch bread that had come from the oven barely a minute ago.

“Why would the dragon put on a brave front?”

“Cold makes dragons slow and vulnerable. It’s really boring.”

It was Tuffnut who said it, and nobody appreciated the comment. Dagur’s fires seemed to chough, like when you light a match, and Ida promptly filled the mug with scalding tea, earning a cry of surprise.

Jack didn’t understand any of it.

“Well, this country isn’t exactly known for its  tropic climate,” the teen said hesitatingly. “I mean, the first thing I was told when my dad and I moved to Berk was that it snowed nine months of the year and hailed the other three.”

The room was suddenly very, very quiet. Ida, Tuffnut, Dagur and even Gobber who had just walked inside the door stood stock still, pendulum frozen in mid-swing.

“You’re from Berk?”

Ida’s voice was a broken whisper and her eyes had turned glassy.

“Don’t tell Hiccup,” Dagur hissed. “Whatever you do; never speak of Berk ever again.”

“Why? How do you know about Berk?”

Gobber started ticking again. “We have some idea of the geography around here,” he said airily. “But you tell us why you think we don’t want anyone to know you’re from that village.”

The first thing that connected in Jack’s brain was Snotlout’s dragon hunting escapades. The second was that there used to be dragons in Berk, but they had disappeared with…

“You’re from Berk!”

“Don’t yell!” Ida hissed.

Jack slapped a hand over his mouth, unable to fully understand. He’d suspected these objects had been people once. But if they were in fact the missing half of Berk’s population… Jack didn’t know what was worse.

“Where are the dragons?” he asked, but he hadn’t even finished the question before he realized that he knew.

The dragon hadn’t made the dragon statues. All the dragons had turned to stone. All but one. So it wasn’t just a curse that had turned people into objects.

Now Jack really wanted to help the only dragon that hadn’t been turned to stone, whatever kind of cruel joke _that_ was.

“Your food is getting cold,” Ida said quietly.

The teen nodded and sat down, wondering when he’d gotten off the chair. He started eating while he watched Ida stare emptily at his bowl and Tuffnut fidget beside her.

Tuffnut.

The name suddenly sounded familiar. Or similar to another name he’d learnt recently.

“Are you…?”

“Don’t!” Ida snapped sharply. “Don’t ask. Don’t tell us anything, it will just make it hurt more.” She glared at him with a soul that knew more about loneliness and pain than Jack could stand. “We can’t leave the castle anyway.”

After that, Jack stubbornly stared at his food until he’d finished it and then left to find the dragon.

* * *

The enchantress sneezed awake. Shaking her head groggily she realized she must have fallen asleep and the dust had awoken her.

How graceful, she thought and rolled her eyes at herself.

Standing up she stretched, feeling and hearing her body pop loudly. She was exhausted. She was still dreaming, still feeling that sense of creeping evil but was unable to grasp anything other than that from her dreamscapes. All she could ever recall was Mother Gothel’s cruel laugher.

Frustrated the young woman closed a book and hauled it across the room.

Days of search and she had found nothing. Hours upon hours of reading and asking all the wrong questions in pursuit of the right ones and all she had to show for it was strained eyes, an aching back and so much unnecessary knowledge about flowers and potions and grass and rocks that she wanted to cry.

Lilacs were apparently the perfect timers when brewing fertilizer. It was finished when the last flower fell.

How long did it take to know a spell was permanent? Watch a rose wilt. Or if you cast a spell and didn’t know if you actually wanted it to be permanent; connect it to a time spell on a rose so that it wilted more slowly.

Rapunzel banged her head against a bookcase. She didn’t need this! She needed diaries. Logs. Any trace of forbidden spells that Mother Gothel could have used to plant a seed and use it to return in case of her demise.

It’s just that Rapunzel for the life of her couldn’t see the old Enchantress take such a precaution. Why would she? Mother Gothel had lived for three hundred years. Why would she have thought she needed a safety net?

There were no news from Eugene either, meaning he too suffered from the constant lack of answers. Of proof.

Maybe she was paranoid? Maybe it was all in her head?

Staring at the mess she had made in the library, the young enchantress decided that she really needed to sleep. Properly. Without dreaming.

Hopefully the sleep-potion she’d found would knock her out for twelve hours the least.

* * *

“How can I help you break the curse?”

The dragon startled, slipping with his foot before regaining his balance and stared down at Jack with wide eyes with a lot of green and pupils only thin slits. Jack watched as they grew when the eyes recognized him.

“I beg your pardon?”

Jack tried not to let his embarrassment show. He hadn’t meant to frighten Hiccup. But the look on Ida’s face haunted him. The more direct he was, the sooner he could hopefully help these people.

“There’s a curse on this castle and all of you are suffering because if it.”

Hanging the duster on his arm the dragon carefully made it down to the floor. “What gave you the idea?” he asked.

“Killing Hiccup won’t break the curse.”

Jack startled and stared at the dragon, but it wasn’t him who had spoken. Damn this castle and its invisible inhabitants that could crawl up on him from anywhere!

The dragon seemed to smile and held up his arm where the duster looked at Jack in a way that Jack supposed was meant to look hostile. It wasn’t all that frightening though, what with the thin handle and soft feathers pointing every which way like a skirt. But the voice was clearly male.

“Hey. My name is Eret, son of Eret. Nice to make you acquaintance.”

It even confirmed it was male. Now Jack didn’t know if he was supposed to laugh or cower.

“Eh, nice to… meet you too?” He greeted the duster back, only to suddenly register what it had said first. “Why would you say that? I’m not going to hurt anyone.”

“Heard that before, son. Didn’t believe her either.”

It took him a second before Jack realized what the duster actually said. “Wait, you mean there’s been people here before?”

The dragon had already hung the duster on a lantern and was hurrying down the corridor, motioning for Jack to follow over the sputtering protests of the duster.

“Yes,” he said stiffly as Jack caught up with him. “They didn’t linger. Why would you want to break the curse?”

Jack blinked at that. Obviously the dragon didn’t want to talk about any earlier visitors. What if they had been like his dad; too afraid to talk to. The dragon’s back was stiff and his tail shook from side to side as if agitated. He remembered Ida’s comment that the dragon was putting on a brave front.

“It’s not fair.”

Pausing, the dragon tilted his head, urging Jack to elaborate.

“I don’t know why this happened to you, or who thought it was a good idea to do this, but I know that so many people can’t be all so bad that they deserve… whatever fate this is supposed to be.”

The dragon nodded, eyes clear and gentle. “You’re kind,” he said softly and turned into the sitting room. “Easter would have liked you.”

Jack bit his lip and worriedly glanced around. Easter was the name of the person his father had happened to… break. He wondered if she was in the west wing now, glued together but without the person inside.

“Why would you say so?”

The dragon lit the fireplace by spitting at the logs. Warm light spread around the room and the dragon lay down on the mat in front of it, glancing at Jack. “She was kind too.”

Jack fidgeted, but walked into the room and sat on the armchair. “The vase with the bunny on it…”

“Bunny,” the dragon said and motioned with his head at a footstool to come over.

“His name is Bunny?”

“Bunnymund,” the dragon said with a hint of amusement and put his head comfortable on the footstool.

Jack couldn’t help it; he let out a giggle. “I see your names dictated some of the shapes.”

The dragon just blinked. Big eyes like emeralds and onyx that reflected the firelight.

“So what’s your plan?”

“Huh?”

“You said you wanted to break the curse.”

“Really?!”

Jack jumped around to find Fishlegs on the table beside him. He really had to stop dismissing things as lifeless. One of these days he was going to have a heart-attack!

“How are you going to do that?” the book asked, looking excited and hopeful.

“Um, by you telling me what to do?” Jack said, but found he sounded like he was asking instead.

The book’s face fell. “Oh.”

The dragon sighed too. “If I could actually do that, don’t you think I would have tried to ask the first person who stopped long enough to listen?”

“You mean you can’t?” Jack sputtered.

“We tried,” the dragon confirmed, and that stiffness in his body was back even though Jack couldn’t detect it in his voice. “And we failed. So anything you suggest; we’re all ears.”

From the doorway they heard coughing and Jack turned to find Astrid and Eret the duster coming inside.

“News are spreading like wildfire. Everyone already knows what you’re up to,” Astrid said.

“Great,” the dragon sighed and swayed his tail towards the candlestick. “Remind me to lock the attic.”

“I sent the coat hanger to do that.” Astrid grabbed the tail and dropped on another small table that came forward, placing her comfortably between Fishlegs and the dragon for form something of a half circle around Jack.

“What’s in the attic?” Jack asked nervously, because it definitely sounded bad.

“Ignorance is a bliss, you know,” the dragon said solemnly. “And you were about to tell us of your ideas.”

The teen bit his lip, thinking. “Have you heard those stories of people who stumble upon a curse and the only way to break it in all those stories is the kiss of…”

Jack stopped and stared at a rather unimpressed dragon and a weirded out candlestick looking between them.

“Eh, let’s sweep that idea under the rug and pretend it’s raining?” Jack suggested with a smile he hoped conveyed that he certainly hadn’t meant it like that.

“Where’d you hear such stories anyway?” Astrid asked, still not quite over the suggestion.

“I read. Almost every fairy tale that includes curses also includes… opposite genders. I even read every book in the library, all twelve, before the new bookstore opened.”

The dragon was now decidedly amused. He couldn’t quite keep the corners of his mouth down. “And you read fairy tales? I thought those were mainly for young girls.”

“I had a little sister,” Jack muttered.

The amusement died instantly, leaving the teen to long for that light in the dragon’s eyes to return. Without it he looked too much like he was dead inside.

“She’s still alive!” he hurried to say. “Just… my mother left and took my sister with her.”

“That’s worse!” Fishlegs cried.

It was. In a way, knowing his little sister lived with a woman who was definitely doing everything she could to put North in a bad light, was worse than if she was dead. And somehow Jack was relieved to hear someone say that to his face.

“Didn’t the bookstore offer more interesting books than fairy tales?” Astrid asked.

“Of course. But there were no curses in those, and if there was…”

“It was fixed by tongue-action,” Eret finished and gagged.

“We should probably take a look at the library. See if we can find anything more valuable,” the dragon sighed and stood.

“You have a library?!”

Jack tried to reign in his excitement to hear that there were actually books here, but from the pleased look the dragon sent him after the surprise wore off, Jack probably failed and wasn’t even upset about it.

* * *

North sat on the steps outside his door when Ruffnut arrived that morning. Still no Jack then. Kid was probably dead and North had simply gone insane by denial.

People in the village had started to take notice too. Whispers of Jack’s absence was slowly creeping around.

“Overland! Thorston’s daughter! Good morning, dear friends.”

Both looked up, but seeing only Flynn Rider they both returned to what they were doing; Ruffnut milking the goat and North staring at the road.

“I can’t help but notice the absence of a certain son. Overland, won’t you please tell me where the boy is?”

“…he stayed there,” North mumbled.

Flynn glanced around. Thorston’s daughter was ignoring him like always. It was such a shame because she was rather pretty. He would have loved to see her gasp and moan and write beneath him just once, but if his charms didn’t work they didn’t and he had to accept that with grace.

Being ignored still hurt though.

“Are you saying Jack followed you to Burgess and now is staying with his mother?”

Ruffnut looked up. That did sound like logic, but it wouldn’t explain the incident with the burning wagon or the fear that shadowed the toymaker’s face every now and then. His house was brightly lit through the nights too.

North however looked up with wide, glassy eyes. “I never reached Burgess!” he said. “The sign had too many arrows and I couldn’t read any of them!” he stood over Flynn who warily backed away. “Philippe threw me off and ran away. I just escaped a black bear and sought shelter in that… In that…”

“Cave?” Flynn suggested.

“CASTLE!” North roared, furious now.

“Okay. Take it easy,” Flynn tried to placate the now pacing man. He had believed the toymaker until that point. “You’re upset, Overland, I can see that. Why don’t I take you to the inn where you can enjoy some good company for a while, rather than dwell in your loneliness here; it’s not good for you.”

“He locked me away,” North continued his tale, appearing to not have heard Flynn at all. “Jack… he shouldn’t have come! He shouldn’t have done that! Why would he trade his life for mine?! I’m old; I’ve lived my life! That monster…”

North suddenly stared at Flynn, petrified by fear.

“Overland…”

“No,” the man whispered. “No. He will kill Jack. You can’t go there; Jack will die.”

Flynn was still holding his hands up and backing away. “Of course. I won’t go anywhere. But you should truly try to get out more, Overland. You sound like you are going mad.”

And with that Flynn bowed slightly in goodbye and left in a hurry. Ruffnut finished milking Mary, Overland’s goat, and patted her on the neck before bringing the milk over to the steps of the house where the eggs already sat in a casket. North had said nothing about her doing Jack’s chores, so she supposed her deal with the white-haired teen was still in place.


	8. Moving closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I wish I wasn't so sensitive, then maybe I wouldn't cry so heavily every time I find myself writing about despair. That's right; I can make myself cry with very little effort, and I don't even have a diagnose.

Hiccup walked deliberately slowly, keeping pace with Fishlegs, Eret and Astrid while Jack looked like he was about to start bouncing off the walls. The boy clearly hadn’t lied when he said he loved to read, but teasing him with moving this slow was too much fun to resist.

“Where is it! I can get there myself and meet you there! Do I take a right or left here?”

Hiccup stayed silent, looked to the right and watched Jack take off while Hiccup turned left, hearing Jack catch up after only a few seconds.

“It’s not far now,” Fishlegs said from where he’d hitched a ride on Hiccup’s tail.

“Why are you even looking forward to this?” Eret asked. “It’s just piles and stacks and shelves of paper with useless words on them!”

“Useless words huh?” Astrid grinned. “Last time I saw you read…”

“IT WAS HORRIBLE!!!” the duster cried.

“Is that how it looks in the library?” Jack asked Hiccup. “Books stacked in piles? How many are there? A hundred?”

“I never bothered to count,” Hiccup shrugged. He didn’t mention that he had read most of the books himself, or at least glanced through them, looking for ways to break the spell by himself. But of course the previous owner of this building hadn’t collected books on magic.

“A hundred is an inaccurate number,” Fishlegs said.

“But there are more than twelve, right?” Jack asked.

“You’ll see when we get there,” Hiccup said with a tone that pressed his friends to keep Jack on his toes.

“There has to be more than a dozen books!” Jack cried, throwing his hands in the air. “You wouldn’t call it a library if it was just a dozen books!” The boy gasped. “Is this why you’re walking so…” Jack paused in his rant when he looked at Hiccup, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Not it’s not. You wouldn’t be smirking like that unless you were… Oh, God! You are pulling a prank on me, aren’t you!?”

Hiccup just sighed, air misting in front of him. “You’re so dramatic,” he said and reached for the door at the end of the hallway they had just reached, pulling it open with some force.

The room bathed in darkness. Hiccup caught Jack’s expectant face fall in disappointment, but he didn’t follow as Hiccup walked inside.

The air was drier in here than in any other part of the castle, so it was the perfect place for keeping books and paper and other moist sensitive materials. But paper was also sensitive to light, so Hiccup usually kept the curtains tightly drawn. The darkness didn’t really bother him either. Even as a human he’d always felt like he moved easier when there was less light.

Reaching the first high window, Hiccup used a paw to remove the books he’d used to keep the curtain tight before jerking it to the side.

Behind him, Jack gasped.

Hiccup walked over to a second window, sweeping it aside, letting sunlight flood the large room, mirrors on the walls reflecting back the light to illuminate the room further, so that even the highest corners were bathing in light.

Jack slowly moved inside, jaw slack as he stared at a room that was a lot more high than wide. Staircases and ladders and balconies lined the walls that were covered with shelves filled to the brim with books, script rolls, single papers, maps and the odd roll of painting that Hiccup had never understood what they were doing in here, but hadn’t bothered finding a frame for them. He supposed one of the owners of the castle simply liked to paint and some of the works ended up here. The fireplace was the star of the room though, Hiccup thought. A pillar beautifully carved out of white stone decorated with brass, the fireplace itself guarded by an iron gate shaped as vines, forming an unfamiliar crest at its centre.

They could light this fireplace, but Hiccup would prefer the one in the sitting room where he had a comfortable mat to lay on and where everyone knew to find him, most of the time.

“It’s certainly more than twelve books,” Jack breathed once he seemed to have taken everything in.

“Organized by genre,” Hiccup said. “From happy go lucky adventure tales in that corner to everyone dies tragic romance stories down here. Tragic on the north side and happy endings are in the south.”

Jack’s eyes were glittering and his body was shaking with indecision on where to run first, he strongly leaned towards the happy ending side.

Hiccup found he was indecisive too, but for a different reason. He’d never done anything like it before, and Astrid would probably tear into him afterwards for taking such a risk, but that was the point. If he didn’t take the risk he would never know for sure. Jack was young, and thus far he hadn’t given anyone the impression of being violent; he just wasn’t a fighter at all. When he’d been afraid of Hiccup he’d mostly just shied away, made himself smaller.

So Hiccup was going to take the risk, no matter what anyone else said. He just had to bait the teen.

“There is a section of fairy tales somewhere near the ceiling. Suppose that’s as good a place to start as any.”

Jack looked up, and started backing up in attempt to see where he thought Hiccup was pointing to.

“You can climb there by the ladders if you wish. I can meet you up there. I’d rather not bring all the books down.”

“And how are you going to get up?” Jack asked, taking the bait.

As casually as he could, Hiccup kept his eyes locked at the shelves as he took a few steps closer to Jack and kneeled down, spreading his wings.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw Jack gaping wide. He closed it when he noticed Hiccup looking at him. Then Hiccup cast a quick look at his back and looked back at Jack.

The boy’s eyes widened even more, but he didn’t move. Hiccup decided to ignore his panicking friends by the door as he slowly turned away from Jack and back to the shelves.

“See you up there?”

He bent down lower and lifted his wings, ready to take off.

“Wait!”

If he hadn’t fully expected the outburst, Hiccup knew he would have faltered. Now he just smoothly folded his wings and tried his best to look surprised.

“Can I… Will you…”

Jack stared at the dragon’s back, bare from clothing, and couldn’t tell if his heart was racing from nervousness at the thought of being that close to the beast, or excitement at the chance of flying on a live dragon. Hiccup had hinted that he could.

“It would save a lot of time if… you would allow… if I can be so bold… to ask you to carry me?”

The dragon blew steam from his snout. “Am I not inviting enough?”

Jack’s face heated. There was definitely something he did find inviting, but if anyone asked him what that was he wouldn’t be able to tell. There was also the tiny little fact that he’d never been that close to anyone outside his family. But it was quite some way to climb if he didn’t get on the dragon.

Swallowing, Jack dried his hands on his sweater and walked closer, but hesitated.

“Just put your arms around my neck,” the dragon said helpfully, and Jack saw his hands sticking out from underneath the wings, almost like Jack himself used to do to Mary when offering her a piggyback ride.

He was going to call it a dragonback ride from now on.

The dragon was warm. Jack hadn’t really noticed it before now that he might actually be a little cold, but didn’t have a lot of time to reflect on it though because the dragon had grabbed his legs, hoisted him higher on his back and the floor was suddenly several meters below them.

Hiccup had aimed for the ledge of the first balcony, but he’d underestimated Jack’s weight and instead of the smooth landing, Hiccup awkwardly hit the edge, scrambling to catch something to hoist himself up with. But if trial and error had taught him anything, it was that stopping to think was the worst thing you could do. So he turned, made a new leap, beat the air with his wings, caught the railing of the next balcony, jumped from there, and with only a couple minor miscalculations, he finally caught the railing of the top balcony and landed there, safe and strangled.

“You can let go now,” Hiccup said and pulled at Jack’s arms and legs that were holding onto him like a vice.

“Was that the first time?”

“I had a passenger? Yes, actually. You’re a lot heavier than you look.”

Jack’s heart was hammering with adrenaline, and he was rather reluctant to let go of the dragon because he’d made the stupid mistake of keeping track of how far away the floor was moving.

“You can’t read anything if your hands are on me,” the dragon huffed, like a laugh.

Jack hadn’t heard the dragon laugh. There had been hints of amusement, but he’d never even smiled.

The teen slowly released his hold, realizing just how hard he’d been holding on when his legs wouldn’t even carry him.

“Heights frighten you?” the dragon asked.

“No!” Jack hurried to say, trying to not feel happy at the dragon’s genuine tone of worry. A sound of caring he hadn’t heard from anyone but his father for years. “I wouldn’t have asked you to take me here if I was afraid. I just…”

“Couldn’t control anything.”

The boy looked up. Hiccup’s features were soft with the ghost of a smile in his eyes. Then the dragon just turned to look at the shelves of books, leaving Jack to wonder why he felt so lost.

Shaking the feeling off Jack too looked at the colourful spines on the shelves. There were some off white ones squeezed in between bright blue and dull red, brown leather and pale yellow linen. Jack pushed crawled over to see the titles of the books on the lowest shelves. He took out a few, not recognizing any of them. There was one book with an illustration of a naked man playing the violin under a waterfall. Another had a picture of a grotesque, goat like monster with a hooked staff bending protectively over a couple of children.

“Angels can have any shape.”

Jack looked up to see the dragon was looking over his shoulder. Hiccup pointed at the goat monster.

“That’s a tale from beyond the abyss, about their guardian of childhood who takes away nightmares and cures illnesses.”

Jack stared at the frightening beast on the cover, intrigued, and set it aside, holding up the other book.

“That’s a ghost of the rivers,” Hiccup said. “Apparently he lures young women to him with his violin and promises of love, then he drowns them.”

A ghost story? Jack quickly put it back and went on his search. The dragon thankfully stayed quiet, seemingly content to lie on the floor, watching Jack, head and ears perking only when birds would pass by the window.

Jack pulled out several books that he put on top of the first, fully intending to read all of them. It wasn’t until he pulled out a book on a higher shelf and opened it to an illustration of a man and woman in royal clothing and swords in their hands facing a dragon emerging from a cave that Jack remembered what he was even doing here.

“Have you read this one?” Jack asked the dragon.

Hiccup glanced at the book, and his eyes instantly darkened. “Yes,” he said softly. “The dragon lost.”

There was something guarded in those green eyes now, a tension coming over his body. Jack swallowed, looked at the illustration again before closing the book and putting it back. He wasn’t looking for ways to kill the dragon; he needed something else like… like what?

The teen backed away from the bookcase to take in more of it. “This is the wrong place. Fairy tales won’t tell us anything about how to break curses, just how to defeat evils.”

He turned to see the dragon look at him with some surprise.

“You’re not an evil,” Jack said firmly through stiff lips, hoping the beast would understand that he really did want to help him.

The dragon’s features slowly softened again, his ears coming up and the lines around his eyes and nose disappeared. He still didn’t smile, but he blinked slowly as his body relaxed. “Let’s go to the next section then.” He got up and put one foot on the balcony railing, sending Jack a playful look. “And I suppose you’ll go there by yourself?”

“Hell no!” Jack cried and jumped onto Hiccup’s back, crying out in frightened delight when the dragon sailed across the room, the ceiling much closer than the floor.

* * *

Eugene huddled in the hollow of a tree as the wind howled outside. His wings were tired and his body cold. It irked him that he knew he hadn’t even covered a tenth of the area he was supposed to, but the weather was a powerful opponent and the lack of prey was taking its toll on the falcon.

Irritated at his weakness, Eugene decided to return to Rapunzel and the castle as soon as the winds died down, getting some proper food, a fire and a bed for just one night. If he was lucky, the Enchantress would have found something that would narrow down his search; give him something concrete to look for because thus far he had nothing. Just a big, smelly heap of nothing.

At least as far as solid proof goes.

Eugene shivered. He hadn’t found anything that pointed at Mother Gothel coming back, but there was no doubt she’d been here. Eugene could feel it. Sense the familiar chills in his bones.

The falcon shivered. Mother Gothel and Rapunzel were worlds apart, starting with their features and ending with their magic. Mother Gothel had been the master of nature magic, able to petrify anything and grow any kind of flower and grass whereas Rapunzel was more about light and transformations.

And the cold sense of Mother Gothel’s magic still lingered in the grass underneath the snow, in rock formations where she might have sought shelter once or might have been alive once.

Eugene stared at the cold emptiness outside the tree. He’d found no proof that Mother Gothel might be coming back yet, but there was still a lot of ground to cover and he was ill prepared for the climate.

He spread his wings, braved the winds and headed towards Rapunzel’s castle.

* * *

Flynn Rider dressed as silently as he could, glancing out the window to make sure the street was deserted and at the bed to make sure the woman was properly covered and tucked in the blanket before he opened the his escape route and jumped out, closing the window and running around the next house, out of sight and innocent as a lamb. He just couldn’t understand how Andersson could neglect his wife when she was such a mind blowing lover.

Well, if Andersson couldn’t deliver, then Flynn Rider would.

“He must have gotten lost in the woods.”

Flynn stopped and leisurely leaned against the wall. Eavesdropping on gossip was his favourite pastime.

“I don’t understand. Thorston’s daughter said Jackson had gone to look for his father, but now North is here but Jackson isn’t. But the fair in Burgess shouldn’t have ended until yesterday.”

“You think it’s the curse?”

“Don’t talk about that!”

“But Overland apparently took the old route to Burgess; the one that forks at Idun’s Outpost.”

“That should have taken him to the main road, no problem.”

“Not if he took a wrong turn.”

A tense silence followed, Flynn seeing it as his cue to come around the corner and straight into the circle of three pale-looking men.

“Hey friends, what’s with the gloom and doom air about you? Are we expecting a blizzard?”

“Flynn! You startled me,” one of the men said with a sigh and a relieved laugh.

“You went to see Overland, didn’t you?” the second asked urgently.

“I did,” Flynn admitted easily. “The jolly toymaker isn’t himself anymore.”

“Like Snotlout?”

Flynn blinked. “Pardon?”

The man who had spoken, Fisheads Ingerman, wrung his enormous hands. “Oh, you weren’t around back then.”

“Back when the dragons and all those people disappeared,” started another man who Flynn recognized as a cousin of Hill Hoffersson (a very lovely mother of an equally lovely daughter and a brat of a son) “Snotlout was one of them, but he returned. Hasn’t been himself since.”

“First time I hear about this,” Flynn said with a smile and draped his arms around two of the men. “How about you come with me to the inn where I can offer you some warm mead and you can tell me more?”

* * *

The outside air was cold and crisp and just what both of them needed. Jack knew he was going to spend a lot of waking hours in the library from now on, but the air was so dry there he’d gotten a headache. The dragon was with him the entire time, a mostly silent companion whose eyes strayed to the windows and the sky more often than not. Jack hadn’t been able to stand it, that longing gaze that said he rather be on the other side of the walls. But to be honest, Jack also loved the outside. He had already picked out a lot of books, a wild mix of stories he wanted to read for himself and anything that sounded like it could help him figure out what curse the dragon was under.

It was quite a hopeless search.

So now they were outside, airing Philippe as they were at it. The horse had been dressed with a warm blanket, and was clearly feeling rather pretty, from the way he carried himself.

The dragon breathed deeply, blowing out a white cloud that quickly disappeared as the air chilled.

“Are you okay?”

The dragon turned to him with surprise. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jack fidgeted. “Because… you didn’t seem very happy in the library… and you said I was heavy.”

He caught sight of Hiccup’s hand moving towards him, but it stopped and instead went up to scratch a scaly neck.

“I don’t know what I expected you to find that I haven’t,” the dragon admitted quietly. “I don’t know how to… nudge you in the right direction. But either way,” he glanced at Jack, almost shyly, “you looked like you were enjoying yourself. After all; you haven’t been very happy yourself since you arrived.”

Not expecting that, Jack felt his face burn and his mouth stretch into a genuinely happy smile that felt like it reached his ears. It was such a little thing, just a little bit of attention, acknowledgement, and Jack felt like it was the first time in his life that someone looked at him and actually _saw_ him. Not his appearance, not his actions, not his words, but his feelings.

It wasn’t at all like Flynn calling him out on his temper or even his father’s concern when Jack was unhappy.

“I was enjoying myself,” he answered the dragon quietly. “I love books. I love stories told from someone else’s mind. I love imagining what kind of place the authors come from, what they’ve seen, how they reacted, how it turned into stories I can read.”

Jack looked up at the dragon, and more than just full attention, he found understanding in those green depths. Agreement even. It made Jack’s heart beat faster in pure joy.

“It’s easy, don’t you think?” Hiccup asked, and while it was tiny, barely there at all, he smiled. “It’s easy to tell the difference between authors who writes from their own wild imagination and those who actually know what they’re talking about.”

“Like how some stories of love are rather flat where the same story from a different author makes you cry!” Jack nodded enthusiastically.

And this time the dragon definitely smiled. “Just so,” he said.

The wind picked up, breathing cold on Jack’s hot face.

Pain flashed in the dragon’s eyes as he used a wing to shield himself from the gust. Ida’s words from this morning broke to the surface in Jack’s mind, that Hiccup was putting on a brave face, that dragons weren’t good with the cold.

“We should go back inside,” Jack quickly offered. “I’m sure Ida won’t mind serving us some hot tea.”

The dragon stared at him strangely, the smile again gone from his features and the light dying in his eyes. Jack hated it.

“You go,” Hiccup said softly. “I have… to go.”

It was not what he’d meant to say, but the dragon had already spread his wings and was climbing up the castle walls, leaving Jack alone with the cold loss of the happiness he’d felt a moment ago.

* * *

Hiccup reached the balcony of the west wing and slipped into the room, closing both the window and the curtains. For his inner eye he again saw Jack’s rosy cheeks go pale when he suddenly realized who he was talking to. That flash of panic and anxiety and that veiled attempt at covering up how much he didn’t want to be here.

Clawing at his head in despair, Hiccup looked to the magic mirror on the table beside the rose. The mirror that showed him anything he wanted to see. The mirror that had shown him his father standing alone in the middle of his house and staring at it as if he’d never seen it before. The cursed mirror that had shown him what had happened to Ruffnut and Snotlout.

Hiccup hadn’t used it in years. His friends seldom came here, much preferring to stay away from this graveyard holding everyone they’d lost over the years, and the dragon doubted anyone even remembered the mirror.

That was good. Only Hiccup should know how much more it hurt to know.

Lowering his head, cowering away from the need and hope to see Jack look for him when he knew the boy was on his way to his room if he wasn’t there already, Hiccup slowly made his way over to the one who had stood by him always. The one he’d failed more than anyone.

Toothless stood there, watching him with blind stone eyes, and Hiccup fell to his knees before his best friend, resting his forehead against the stone and cried in the silence.


	9. Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to confess. Most of what happens in this chapter just... happened. I planned very little of it, and I've been tipsy through most of the progress (or... well, I've been drinking, but it takes quite a lot to get me drunk...) And afterwards I realize that all I've written makes perfect sense and builds to the point I aim for without much of my conscious involvement. So even though it's short, I hope you enjoy it :D

Outside the inn at the heart of Berk the sky was crying frozen tears and the wind was howling. Common late October weather. Normally the bar at the inn would be filled with drunken laugher, loud bets and cheers, but tonight was different. Flynn already had a feeling people were getting nervous around the village. He’d heard all the rumours from his costumers as well as the three men he’d invited in two nights ago, but he’d underestimated how badly the pre-dragon-age folks would take the disappearance of Jackson Overland.

It reopened old wounds it seemed. Wounds that run deep. Thorston ran around like headless chicken every time he lost sight of his daughter or she forgot to tell him where she was going. Old Stoick moved around the village a lot more, offering support in the form of a strong figure and a reminder of what his son had once said; “We need to keep calm and think first in the face of a crisis.”

There were whispers of admiration and several quiet cheers for Stoick at the inn. Flynn heard it was because there were people who had lost less than Stoick and were too devastated to live on.

If he had to be honest, at least to himself, Flynn too admired the chief. Especially when he’d caught the man stagger and look to the sky with an expression as if he was about to fall apart, but then squared his shoulders and regained the confidence and pride in his gait.

“You never liked that boy.”

The quiet words were laced with cold bitterness and came from none other than Elsa Arendelle, obviously here to collect her father. She wasn’t even looking at Flynn, just glaring at the dimly lit dining area and its subdued mood.

“Quite the contrary, most fair one, I always thought Jackson was a breath of fresh air,” Flynn said, putting as much timbre in his voice as he could, knowing how much of a turn-on it was for the prim woman. Even now he could see how the hairs on her neck lifted.

The man left with another round of beer to deliver to a group of both men and women whispering vividly. They were questioning an order Stoick had given earlier that day. The order not to bother the toymaker. Not question the Overland elder.

Flynn smiled as charmingly as he could at the people and handed them their drinks before heading back to the bar where Elsa still stood.

“Can I get you something?”

“No,” the woman said, still refusing to look at Flynn. Not that it was much of a loss for the man; Elsa was more work than she was worth. Like right now when she was doing her ice queen act as if Flynn was supposed to feel bad about something. He’d seen it was highly effective on other suitors though.

“Where is he?”

That had Flynn look up. Elsa still wasn’t looking at him and her words were quiet but the accusation clear.

So she wanted to play that game, huh?

“I light a candle each night hoping he’s safe and sound,” Flynn whispered with sincerity.

“You know where he is.”

Flynn walked around the bar and stood over Elsa, leaning in so she could see his face was free from any humour. “If I did, I would take a horse and go fetch him.” He stood back, a smirk on his face under a gaze that was even colder than Elsa’s. “Now, I believe your father’s had one too many.”

The woman glared at him, glanced at the restaurant and the innkeeper who still stood in front of her, a subtle show of power.

The woman reluctantly submitted and walked around Flynn.

The innkeeper watched her. He’d told her the naked truth she didn’t want. His words and the truth of it would keep his image safe no matter what public accusations Elsa might throw at him. She really couldn’t swallow the fact she wasn’t the only woman in his life, or that all the other women knew about it.

Still, she had made Flynn wonder. He was probably the only one who had gone to talk to North and actually gotten some sort of answer, no matter how incoherent.

Everyone was terrified of the forest in the north east direction.

 _“That’s where the dragons headed,”_ an elderly man had said.

* * *

To be feared was to be respected, and there were few things that gave Pitch Black pleasure quite like seeing fear spread like a disease. The Overland son was gone, which was a shame really, but the toymaker was back and rumours said the old man was going insane after going into the woods of the north east. The Thorston daughter was the one who took care of the animals these days, worrying her father when she took too long.

Pitch walked down the main street, head held high, and enjoyed how people who had once shoved and ridiculed him were now stepping aside, eyes downcast as Pitch passed them.

There were only two people who wouldn’t, and one of them was just up ahead.

The old chief looked straight into Pitch’s eyes, superiority shining through like light from a candle.

“Taking a stroll, Black?”

“Oh, you know. I sensed the atmosphere and came looking for the one who died,” the gravedigger spoke smoothly.

“Nobody has died,” Stoick stated calmly.

Pitch waited for the elder to say something more, but he just stood there, looking somewhat expectant. When Pitch finally realized why that was, he had to fight down a wave of hateful rage.

“I see, then I have no business within the village,” he said between his teeth and stepped aside, letting the chief through. Everybody else did that willingly. Everybody else sought and found comfort in Stoick the Vast, and they showed him respect Pitch thought the man had never deserved.

Chief. That’s what they were bowing down to, not the man. But Stoick was getting old. Pitch would dig his grave one day, and that day these people wouldn’t have anyone they viewed as a leader. Except for Flynn Rider. Rider was a strong candidate for leadership, and despite his love for mischief and drama and his mean streak that had gotten two men unjustly killed in the past, people would turn and bow their heads to Flynn would he ever step up that game.

It turned Pitch’s stomach to think about it.

* * *

Three days had past. Three days where Jack hadn’t side hide or hair of the dragon and nobody would answer where he was or what had happened to him. So Jack was taking refuge in the library where Fishlegs often kept him company. What Gobber had once said about him being a walking encyclopaedia had not been an understatement. The book could talk forever if you opened the right topic and Jack marvelled at some of the things he was told.

Fishlegs told him about dragons; their classes and states and hierarchy. Something about a beehive mind with a queen that controls the workers and an alpha that takes care of and protects everyone. Jack wasn’t too sure if he really understood anything by the end of the day.

Fishlegs also talked at length about flowers. Jack had tried to listen to that, not having forgotten about the blue rose in the west wing, but the book lost him about two flowers in, and any rose he mentioned was lost in context. Jack didn’t dare asking either in case Fishlegs would clam up and stop talking.

Tooth Fairy, the dresser in his room, talked to him in the mornings and evenings and Ida seemed to have opened up, greeting him with a smile every time he entered the kitchen for food. Tuffnut too appeared to be getting used to his presence and his own relationship to Jack as a cup the teen was drinking from. Jack still carefully checked each and every one of the forks and knives and spoons he was given to use to eat to make sure none of them would talk to or look at him.

Gobber was the same as before, a little stand-offish but talked when he was talked to, cracking the odd macabre joke about his fellow objects that Jack tried not to laugh at.

It should be enough. Jack did truly feel more and more at ease with the people of the castle, even if he still startled when someone talked to him that he hadn’t realized was there. It should be enough for the empty loneliness to go away.

But the dragon wasn’t there.

And there were others. The armours around the hallways were looking at him, hands falling from the knob to the hilts of their weapons. There were bouts of tense silences in places where Jack guessed objects were hiding from him. The Bunny vase Jack hadn’t seen since he brought Hiccup back when he got wounded by the bear. Astrid the candlestick was quiet most of the time, standing around in the kitchen or sitting room, and every time Jack tried to talk to her, he received this long, icy stare before she answered.

Jack missed the dragon.

It was madness, but on the evening of the third day of not seeing the master Jack had to admit it. At least to himself. Hiccup was different from everyone else. Jack found himself drawn to him ever since he’d saved Jack from the bear… no, that was a lie. Ever since Jack realized Hiccup was the only “living” creature in the castle, his heart had reached out for the beast. Jack wasn’t sure if this was a healthy reaction, but he sure as hell knew that the living conditions of the inhabitants of this castle and the situation they were in was ten times worse.

Looking up from the book Jack had placed on his lap, fully intending to read only for his thoughts to distract him, the teen realized Tooth was looking curiously at him.

Oh right. They’d been in the middle of a conversation.

“Hey, Tooth. What do you… do during the day?” Jack asked.

“I’m a dresser. I stand here,” she said slowly.

Her eyes had gone sad, even though she still appeared to be smiling.

“Why don’t you… go out? You know? To hang with the others?”

The dresser looked away, staring at the opposite wall without seeing it. “A lot of terrible things have befallen us since we came here. I heard you’ve been to the west wing? I’ve been told that’s where Master keeps the remains of those of us who have died.”

Cold filled Jack’s core, fearing where this was going.

“Some broke themselves, unable to accept this fate. But others…” a tear rolled down the wood, “others were protecting Master until there was nothing but splinters left.”

The cold was now ice, a horrible realization coming to the forefront of Jack’s mind. “The people who have come before me,” he whispered. “They’ve tried to kill Hiccup.”

It wasn’t a question, and Tooth didn’t pretend it was. She just closed her eyes and settled against the wall.

“My daughter was brave. She protected Master. I didn’t know who to hate, so I locked myself up in this room.”

The human stared at the cover of the book on his legs. It was the one with the frightening goat monster hovering above a couple of children. A guardian of childhood, Hiccup had said. An angel that looked a lot more like a demon. The irony was painful. Jack knew that if he were to read this book, he’d find people drawing the same conclusion he’d first done with the dragon; that this was a monster out to hurt him.

And that would turn the humans into monsters instead.

“Hey Tooth. What would happen if we manage to break the curse. Everyone who have died…”

“They are dead,” Tooth said firmly. “Don’t even pretend it’s possible to save them now. People don’t come back from the dead, and that’s better than thinking they will and blame the curse and then curse Master when that doesn’t happen.”

Jack swallowed. He didn’t understand, not really, but Tooth sounded sure of herself. The teen supposed that when you’ve watched people die enough times and cried enough tears over the fact that they were gone, you’d come up with ways to live with it, excuses that made accepting it a little easier to bear.

“Does all of you really care that much about Hiccup?”

Tooth was quiet for a minute. The only hint that she was even considering to answer was that she’d opened her eyes again.

“His curse is worse than ours,” she said at length. “We’ll die, but he must always live.”

Why did this curse have to get worse the more Jack learned about it?! He threw himself back on the bed and rubbed his hands roughly over his face, groaning all the while. He couldn’t take it anymore! This place was so full of grief and pain and blast the curse to hell! Jack had to do something.  He had to do _something_! Anything would be better than sitting here being useless to break the curse.

“We should have a party!”

“Huh?”

Jack sat up and looked firmly at the flabbergasted dresser. “All of us should leave our troubles by the door and have just one night of fun! Dancing and singing and eating!”

“I… don’t eat,” Tooth said.

“You know what I mean!” Jack cried and threw his hands in the air. “In the morning, I’ll go find Master Dragon and drag his sorry tail and everyone else to… there has to be a room for parties in here somewhere!”

Tooth was blinking owlishly with eyes that were so wide Jack could see all of her iris.

“There… might be?” she said, but it sounded like a question and she was shrugging at the same time.

“Perfect! Then I’m going to sleep. See you in the morning.”

* * *

Sitting in his house, every lantern and candle and the fireplace lit, North sat at his table. He was waiting. Waiting for the door to open and Jack to come inside, smirk in place and the story of how he cleverly killed the dragon and escaped ready to be told.

How long had it been? Why had this even happened?

For his inner eye North saw the shadow of the dragon come at him in the short-lived light of the lightning. He saw gleaming white teeth and a roar and several cries filled the air as the entire hallway suddenly came to life. Again he felt the monster ram into him and push him down into the floor, roaring a mix of thunder and a shrill whistle.

What was that devil doing with Jack right now?

It didn’t matter how many layers of clothing North wore, his insides were still ice as he thought of his son trapped in that cold tower with nothing to do but wait and wonder.

Firm knockings startled the old toymaker from his train of thought. At first he thought it might be Jack, but he wouldn’t knock.

“North! This is Stoick. Please open the door.”

The chief. The toymaker slowly stood and walked over to the door, opening it without a second thought.

The chief stepped inside sideways, his broad shoulders too wide for most doorways in Berk. His blue green eyes were kind but firm as they looked at North.

“How long will it take you to pick yourself up?”

The words cut into North. This was Stoick, the person who had also lost his wife and son. But there was a difference; Stoick’s loved ones were dead and gone. North’s wife and daughter lived in Burgess and Jack…

“I know it hurts,” Stoick said when the other man failed to answer. “I know how much it takes to rise above the grief. But let me tell you this; every single one you have lost will cry tears of blood if they saw you now.”

“He’s holding Jack captive!” North cried. “Jack traded his life for mine and now he’s sitting in that cold cell!”

“LISTEN TO ME!”

Stoick’s booming voice filled the room and North was startled out of himself. Suddenly he was in his own home with the chief the only one there.

“Either you bury yourself and die in your grief!” Stoick went on harshly, then his face softened slightly. “Or you take your pain and live with it like the rest of us. My son isn’t dead either. He disappeared, but that doesn’t mean he’s dead. I need to be here the day he returns. What do you want Jack to find when he comes home?”

North stared at the chief of this village. This place Jack had hated. Stoick was someone who had also been a single parent. He’d probably faced the same problems and hardships and joys.

North backed away, sat at his table and started crying.

Stoick appeared to ignore him as he headed further into the house. He found the kitchen and opened the pantry. There wasn’t much there, but the old chief was still man enough to cook up something decent and placed it before the weeping man by the table.

“I’m not going to tell you to eat, North,” Stoick said. “You’re a grown man; you make your own decisions. But I don’t want to tell Jack about your demise when he comes home.”

Then he walked out of the house and closed the door behind him.

North’s mind was still clear. He just needed to cry out the stress. Jack deserved better. The boy was probably sitting in that tower, waiting.

And North would come for him.

Whatever kind of food the chief had made, North ate it all and all of a sudden he realized how hungry he was. He needed more. He needed the strength it provided. Because North was going back down that road and find the castle and bring his son home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May I ask for your opinion, dear reader? I had originally planned for this to not be a explict romance story. but all things considered, I don't really mind that outcome either. I still would like to ask if you want this to end with a scene between Hiccup and Jack as a couple, or just a pair of very special friends?  
> Either way, I hope you enjoy the story.  
> All my love/Mjus


	10. Jack Frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A winter poem moves Flynn to make a decision.  
> Jack does all he can to lift the mood inside the castle, but the curse is yet an opponent he can't win against.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry you all had to wait so long for such a short chapter, but I still feel like there's some progress!  
> Also, the first part with the winter poem, that's what happens when I feel like I need a transition and just write something mindlessly. Tell me if you like it or not XD

“Have you heard of Frostman’s twins!”

Flynn glanced up, curious about the loud old guy who’d stepped in front of the fire, waving an empty tankard around.

What was even more curious was the way people went quiet and turned to listen. At least the “original hooligans” as Pitch had once put it.

“The terrible Frostman!” the man shouted dramatically. “No one could melt his heart! So why bother to try? But view the beauty of Lady Snow. Gaze upon her black hair that glitters with stars at night. Behold her skin as it sparkles under the sun.”

Despite himself, Flynn was a little intrigued. The old drunk was a talented storyteller. By now the entire room was listening.

“Oh Lad Snow, as fair as she is cold. But hear the wind howl in triumph as he swings his staff to whip up blizzards. Fear the devastation of the Frost! Bow before the strength of the storms in his eyes!”

Flynn moved between the tables, people showing they wanted a refill by hand signs but not words. But nobody in the room was more spellbound than Snotlout and Dorgsbreath. It made the inn-owner a tad worried. The duo had already thought about burning down the Overland house once for getting into their heads that Jackson was a snow sprite.

“Cold was their love,” the storyteller said with a gravelly voice. “Cold was the night of their union. And cold but beautiful the day of birth. Jökul Frosti, Frostman’s firstborn son! Dark be his eyes and cold be his heart! Cry will the winds and rage will the seas by the cruelty of Jökul.”

Poor Jack, Flynn thought. The kid really didn’t deserve the kinds of rumours that would surely rise from this…

“But look!” the storyteller hissed, like in awe. “A second son is born. Jack Frost. Watch how the stars twinkle when he laughs. See the snow dance with the playful winds. Beautiful the patters of the frost across the lake.”

People were nodding amongst themselves, and Flynn suddenly realized this wasn’t a story at all. It was just a winter poem.

“Proud be the terrible Frostman of the havoc spread by Jökul. Proud be fair Lady Snow of Jack Frost, playing in the snow, and calling to the human children. The snow is warm, he tells them. Fear not the terrible Frostman! Fear not the cold! Come out and play with me. I will nibble your noses if you don’t!”

The man bowed and a round of applause filled the room as people nodded at each other.

“He’s good, isn’t he?” a woman said to Flynn, who realized he’d stopped in the middle of the room to listen. “It’s a good thing that old fraud is at the very least happy to remind us not all is bad about winter.”

“Yes, he’s really good,” Flynn agreed easily, but that’s not at all the feeling he was left with. Instead he remembered what he’d told Elsa last week. That if he knew where Jack was he would get a horse and go fetch him.

Maybe he actually should? Once the snow cleared. If someone actually was holding Jack prison as the toymaker had claimed, he couldn’t be as lively as the Jack Frost of the poem anymore.

* * *

“Hey, Dagur! Ida! Everyone else! Let’s clean this place up until it shines and we will have a party tonight! Dagur, you’ll have to cook something special! I’ll take this and go look for Hiccup!”

The door swung shut after Jack, leaving the entire room in a stunned silence.

“What just happened?” Tuffnut asked.

“Um… Jack swiped the bread and left the rest of his breakfast on the table?” the faucet said, but it sounded like a question.

“That was Jack?” Dagur asked.

There was another bout of silence.

“Did anyone hear what he said?” Ida asked.

* * *

Jack had found Hiccup, and now the dragon stood stock still staring down at the little human breathing heavily in front of him.

Hiccup blinked owlishly, but it was still Jack standing before him, waiting for an answer because he’d been talking.

The dragon shook his head slightly. “Sorry, I’m still progressing your grand entrance. Did you say you want to clean the castle with a snowball fight party?”

Hiccup wasn’t sure what expression he was making, but Jack’s already flushed cheeks grew even redder as he glared up at Hiccup. Then he held up a finger. “If that was possible, it would be awesome. But no.” He started to throw his arms around in wild gestures, making Hiccup lean away from him, framing the boy with his wings to make sure he didn’t hit anything, and to hide the boy from anything that could interpret the waving as threatening. “I want to have a party! I want everyone to come and forget everything bad for just _one day_ and remember what it’s like to have fun! And you’re the only one who won’t break in a slowball fight, and the sun is shining, and the snow looks so inviting I want to go out and play in the snow… with you.”

Yes, Hiccup was still facing a few difficulties understanding any of that. He’d been giving Jack space for a while, planning to slowly come back into the corners of his everyday life. He certainly hadn’t expected Jack to throw himself at Hiccup with demands that sounded like he wanted Hiccup’s company. The party thing had sort of gone in one ear and out the other, along with a lot of other words he hadn’t been able to catch.

The dragon blinked again when suddenly Jack was rubbing his face and groaning.

“I forgot. You’re sensitive to cold.”

“Huh? Who told you that?” Hiccup asked, answering to the first coherent thing the human had said.

Jack avoided eye-contact and hunched his shoulders up. “Astrid, Gobber and Ida, I think. They said dragons are sensitive to cold, and that you’re just putting up a brave front. And the other day, when we were outside, you looked like you were in pain when the wind started up.”

“I did?”

The teen lifted his head, staring at Hiccup who tried to remember what Jack might be talking about.

“The day you showed me the library. When we went outside?” the boy said as if trying to trigger the memory. Not that it was needed, Hiccup knew which day and what hour they had been outside after their adventures together in the library. He could even recite each word they both had spoken when they’d been outside since he’d been looking for what could have triggered Jack’s fear of him. He still saw Jack’s eyes zeroing in on his hand when he’d reached forward to touch him, and how his eyes had suddenly widened and his body freezing for a second.

“You wanted to go back inside,” Hiccup said. “You stepped away from me. Like you… wanted distance.”

“Huh?”

Hiccup stayed silent. It seemed Jack hadn’t realized his own reactions that day, but apparently there was something Hiccup had done unconsciously that Jack had noticed and reacted to.

“Dragons typically hibernate,” Hiccup explained. “There are a few exceptions and some who go about it in a different way. I’m not sensitive to cold, per say, but the weather does affect me.”

Jack nodded slowly, appearing to be thinking as the colour was rising on his cheeks.

“So… you’re okay to go out today?”

The question was laced with hopeful eagerness and glittering eyes. Hiccup couldn’t quite figure this boy out, but his young face was void of the ill intentions, the dark thoughts Hiccup had learnt the hard way to look for.

Or Jack was the best liar Hiccup had ever seen.

“Yes,” the dragon said, swallowing a nervous ball of fear. “We can go outside.”

* * *

Jack couldn’t stop thinking about it; that he’d been such a fool. He was a fool for ever thinking Hiccup’s looming posture was threatening, that his glare was hostile. Now, under the sunlight, seeing Hiccup hesitatingly thread the snow, Jack was wondering for the first time who had been most afraid that evening in the tower. Tooth had said the people who had come here before had tried to kill Hiccup, and if that meant all of them, it was understandable that Hiccup had tried to appear intimidating.

Now the dragon was following Jack around with this strange expression on his face, like he tried to figure out how to play as Jack was rolling snowballs and stacking them together to make a lantern he wanted to place candles inside later in the evening, as well as putting a snowman together.

“How is that a man?” the dragon asked when Jack finished the project and proudly presented the creation.

“I don’t know?” Jack said after thinking about it, staring at the snowman with sticks as arms and stones making up its face. “I… suppose it doesn’t really look like a man at all.”

The dragon snorted. “No, it looks like something that fell from heaven.”

“What?”

Hiccup looked down at him, and there it was again; that softening of his features, the glint in his eyes and that almost smile. Jack realized then and there that it was that almost smile that more than anything made him want to break the curse. Because it wasn’t right. Hiccup should smile. Or at the very least he should be able to smile freely, rather than carrying around this heavy curse that was starting to make every flash of  happiness the most precious thing to the teen.

“Snow, Jack,” the dragon said.

With widening eyes, Jackson burst out laughing. “Oh gosh, you’re right! Snowmen fell from heaven. Oh shit, that sounds _terrifying_!”

“It does when you put it that way,” the dragon said, his eyes wide and stuck somewhere between amusement and horror. It really was a beautiful shade of green, those eyes.

“Let’s have a snowball…!” Jack cried as he scooped up snow, but froze when suddenly Hiccup surrounded him, a deep growl vibrating in the air between them. They didn’t touch, Hiccup just circled Jack with his body, arms and wings, so close Jack could feel the warmth radiating off the dragon, heart trembling with the growl, and the teen just stood there, poised to throw a hastily made snowball, not daring to move a muscle and barely even breathing.

It only lasted for a few seconds, and when he stepped away, Hiccup wasn’t looking at Jack. Instead, the dragon was glaring at the yard and blew steam from his snout.

“Let’s go outside the walls for a bit. If we play here, you might hit the dragons.”

The human looked around with wide eyes. He could see the stone dragons under the snow as well as the shape of bushes and the black stems of dead flowers. But Jack knew he was still blind to anything in the castle that might move to hurt him. Tooth had been careful to warn him that some were so high-strung that they’d interpret any move against Hiccup as a threat.

“I… I didn’t…”

“I know, Jack,” the dragon said gently and waved a hand to the boy, urging him to follow. “I do know.”

The white-haired boy swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat. A second. No, even less than a second. That’s how fast this bright and sunny day had gone dark and frightening.

Biting down on anger at the injustice, Jack caught up with the dragon. The thought “and it was so close” passed through his thoughts sullenly.

Jack didn’t catch it immediately. He’d actually almost forgotten the thought had even passed him before he suddenly caught it by its tail and reeled it back, searching for the image that had caused it.

The dragon had almost held him. Hiccup had held his arms around Jack and…

A snowball hit Jack square in the face. Sputtering, the teen staggered backwards, wiping at the snow on his face.

The dragon sat on his heels in the snow between the trees, squeezing snow between his large hands and smirking at Jack.

“We’re outside the walls,” was all he said before hurling a second snowball at Jack who ducked and ran for the cover of the trees, hurriedly squeezing snow.

The first snowball Jack flung at the dragon was shot down by a spit ball of fire.

“Hey! That’s cheating!”

“Oh sorry. I thought we were practicing aim!” Hiccup called back.

Gawking at the pure cheek of this creature, Jack rose to the challenge with a determination he hadn’t felt since he was a small child.

The dragon had the advantage of faster movement, the ability to run on all four helping him along, and jumping quite high, but he couldn’t really spread his wings or wave his tail between the trees and he was a lot bigger than Jack, his black stature standing out starkly against the glittering snow.

Jack was way more agile and smaller, making him harder to hit, but wasn’t quite as familiar with the terrain, and Hiccup was not above playing dirty. Like hitting a branch above Jack so that chunks of snow would fall on his head and into his jacket.

But it was worth it. They were having fun. Jack found himself laughing and yelling insults at Hiccup who answered with pure sass, allowing the human to see a shadow of the person he might have been before the curse.

And then, just like before, everything froze. Jack had taken cover behind a rock to squeeze more snow and was jumping out to throw a snowball at the dragon, only to see Hiccup’s eyes wide with fear and flinch back, protecting himself with his wings when Jack’s arm whipped forward.

Jack caught himself, the snowball still in his first. Slowly, when nothing hit him, Hiccup looked up. His pupils were thin slits and all mirth gone as he inched away, staring at Jack.

The teen looked around. At first he couldn’t see anything that could have provoked the reaction. But then he saw the rounded shape of the rock he’d been hiding behind.

Kneeling down, Jack brushed the snow away.

“Heather” it said, and beneath it only one date. The first of December ten years ago.

Jack looked up. To the left was another stone. This one said “Sven” and the thirteenth of February two years after Heather. There were another four stones.

Gravestones.

Jack stood and backed away. There were six graves. Out here. But Hiccup kept the remains of all the ones who had died in the west wing.

“The people who were here before, you said they didn’t linger…” Jack turned to the dragon, standing under a pine tree, his dark form surrounded by bright sunshine and glittering snow.

Jack couldn’t say it. Couldn’t even think it. What was he even supposed to think when the cold was seeping into his heart, chilling him to the bone.

“Heather was Dagur’s younger sister. She thought killing me would bring her brother back to normal.”

All blood drained from Jack’s face.

 _“Hiccup has to live.”_ Tooth had said, and it dawned on Jack that that was the curse. Hiccup had to live, so those who tried to kill him…

“Why?” Jack whispered, images flashing by in his mind as his eyes started to burn. Hiccup pleading to the bear, unconscious in the snow, asleep before the fireplace, yelling at Jack in the west wing. “Why?” he said a little louder.

Hiccup didn’t answer. He just stood there, right there, but there might as well have been an entire world between them the way he seemed to fold into himself, the way he seemed like he was waiting to be dismissed. If Jack blinked, he feared Hiccup would be gone.

“Why… did this happen to you?!” Jack cried. Because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. “Nobody deserves this! Not you! None of you! Why? Why is the curse getting worse the more I learn about it! Why won’t you tell me how to help you?! Why is *hic* this isn’t… you…”

By now Jack was both blind and incoherent from crying. The tears wouldn’t stop. Hiccup wasn’t evil. He wasn’t a murderer. Who could have thought he deserved this?

The snow crunched and Jack looked up. Hiccup had stepped closer to him, and that was all encouragement Jack needed to throw himself at the dragon’s chest, holding onto this misfortunate creature and feeling so worthless that all he could do was cry as if that was going to help anyone or anything.

Privately, Hiccup wondered how much was left of his heart. He’d long since stopped counting the ways it could break, and knew there were big chunks of it that had been lost along the way. However, he was risking all that was left if it now. If Jack turned on him later, Hiccup would accept it.

Because the rose was wilting, it didn’t matter anymore.

Slowly, carefully, the dragon closed his arms around Jack’s sobbing form. At first he held lightly, but when the boy made no indication he wanted to pull away, Hiccup held on tighter, rocking from side to side.

“Jack. Jack, you are helping. Believe me, you’ve done plenty already.”

“You’re still… cursed,” Jack sobbed.

“That’s not because of you. Breaking the curse isn’t on you. There isn’t a curse in this world that can be broken by anyone other than the cursed one.”

After that, the teen didn’t say anything. He just kept crying quietly, allowing Hiccup to hold him.

 _‘How long has it been?’_ he thought silently to himself as he stroked Jack’s soft hair. _‘When did I last touch anyone?’_ Not since Heather. She’d known him, she’d been used to dragons.

And nobody had ever come as close to killing him since.

The dragon gazed sadly at the grave of a woman who had once been his friend. It didn’t matter whose fault it was, but his hope had died with the abrupt end of Heather’s scream, with her last breath. But he couldn’t let it show. All of this was his fault, and it all fell on him to right it. So he took it all and lived with it. He picked up whatever pieces he could, of his friends and himself, and tried to hold it all together until he found a way to break the curse.

The body in his arms drew a shuddering breath and leaned away. Hiccup let him go and looked carefully and Jack’s face. He still couldn’t quite believe the teen actually had cried for him rather than run away like Hiccup had been so certain he would do.

“Why were you cursed?” Jack asked with a small voice.

He hadn’t stepped away, and Hiccup tried to reach up to dry the tears that were still rolling down the boy’s cheeks, but Jack flinched and pinched his eyes close.

 _‘Still afraid,’_ Hiccup thought, but accepted it. Jack didn’t hate him or want him dead.

“It’s a long story. We should go back inside.”

“Tell me,” Jack demanded, his voice still broken, but also pleading.

“Of course, Jack. After you’ve gotten some food and water in you. I’ll tell you everything when you’re not upset. So…” Hiccup nudged Jack’s forehead with his snout, making the teen look up at him. “Let’s go inside.”


End file.
